


The Story of Hazel Knight; Book Six - Distance Means Nothing

by CaspyCasp



Series: The Story of Hazel Knight [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-02-16 01:05:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 147,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13043316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaspyCasp/pseuds/CaspyCasp
Summary: Fred and Hazel can no longer see each other often, since Fred is running the joke shop and Hazel has two more years of Hogwarts to complete, but distance means nothing when someone means so much to you.Part Six of 'The Story of Hazel Knight'Titles:I Love Magic - Book OneMore Danger and More Mysteries - Book TwoCrushes are the Worst - Book ThreeEither Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes - Book FourOurs - Book FiveDistance Means Nothing - Book SixUntil the Very End - Book Seven





	1. Walks in Little Whinging

**Author's Note:**

> Before you start reading, I would like to iterate that this is not my story. I did not write it, so I own nothing.  
> It is originally written on Quotev by bucky kentucky, and you can find her profile at www.quotev.com/arcticmaryams
> 
> I own nothing. All things Harry Potter related belong to J.K. Rowling, and anything else belongs to bucky kentucky.
> 
> Thank you.

**Distance Means Nothing**

**Chapter One: Walks in Little Whinging**

 

There are rare, admittedly fleeting moments where I would very much like to be a Muggle. To dismiss all the mist in the air as just some odd weather we're having, to think that what had happened in West Country was nothing but a hurricane, to think that the murders of Amelia Bones and Emmaline Vance were just unfortunate events that might never be properly explained, that the reason the Brockdale Bridge snapped like that was simply because it wore out, and that after a week of odd behaviour, Herbert Chorley, one of the Junior Ministers, really was just going to spend more time with his family.

But I'm not a Muggle. All the mist in the air is actually due to the Dementors that are now roaming freely around the country and even breeding, so that there are more of them than ever; what happened in West Country was not a hurricane, but the work of Lord Voldemort's Death Eaters and a fair bit of giant involvement; Amelia Bones and Emmaline Vance were murdered by Lord Voldemort, clearly deemed important enough to have it done by Voldemort himself; the Brockdale Bridge was destroyed by Voldemort, since Cornelius Fudge, former Minister for Magic refused to step aside for him and take over the Ministry; and Herbert Chorley is better far away from his family, considering the fact that he's been placed under a fairly poorly performed Imperius Curse.

I'm a wizard, and I know that the Wizarding World is at war. And I know that Voldemort will not rest until he drags the Muggle world right down with his enemies.

Tearing my eyes away from the window, away from the now misty street of Privet Drive, I walk over to my desk, flipping through a copy of the  _Daily Prophet_ for what must be the tenth time already. I read through the same articles as usual: the one discussing whether Harry Potter is or is not the 'Chosen One', as they've taken to calling it, the one discussing how Rufus Scrimgeour has taken Cornelius Fudge's place as Minister for Magic, and the one that lists ways in which you can protect your home and your family from Dark forces. I can't find it in myself to focus on the other ones too much. Somehow, I can't focus on a Celestina Warbeck interview when I have to deal with articles saying that my best friend is destined to defeat the most powerful Dark wizard in the world.

I go back to the article about Harry again, and upon finishing it, I look through the open window at the one across from mine. Harry's window. As usual, the curtains are drawn. After the death of Sirius Black, Harry's godfather, Harry was disconnected enough, and now that we're back at Privet Drive, he has locked himself in his room, and I've rarely talked to him all summer, in spite of the fact that we're best friends and we can easily have a conversation from our separate bedrooms.

I don't blame him for grieving, I understand him being so upset, but I can't pretend it isn't lonely. I can't think of a single summer since we met at the age of five that we didn't spend a great deal of time communicating with each other in one way or another. Of course, I've been keeping in touch with my other best friends, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, George Weasley, Ginny Weasley, my godfather, Remus Lupin (though not very often, as he's busy with the Order of the Phoenix), and my boyfriend, Fred Weasley, through letters, and now that my cousin, Candy, and I have made up, it's not as bad as it could have been, but Candy and I really can't talk that often, despite living in the same house, because we've agreed that it's best if her parents and my aunt and uncle, Gabriel and Daisy, don't find out about our friendship. Regardless of this, the fact that I rarely talk to my best friend of eleven years is rather upsetting.

Forgetting the feeling of loneliness, I'm also getting increasingly worried about Harry. Of course, it's perfectly normal to grieve, perfectly normal to want to be by yourself, but it's another thing entirely to lock yourself in your room and almost never come out. The problem is that I can hardly tell him this, because he's spending most of his time in his room, and on those occasions that we do talk, of I ever bring up Sirius and how he's coping with his death, he shuts me out completely, and to say that it's frustrating would be an understatement.

Suddenly, there's a knock at the door, snapping me out of my thoughts. I turn around to look at the door, waiting for a few seconds. When whoever is knocking simply doesn't barge in, I realise that I can't be Uncle Gabriel or Aunt Daisy, since they've taken to knocking, then just barging in anyways without really caring whether I was in a state to have visitors.

I walk over to the door and open it, only to find Candy standing in front of me.

"Hello," I say, moving aside to let her in and giving a very brave attempt at a smile, since I'm not exactly in the best of moods.

Candy, however, doesn't enter. I raise an eyebrow very slightly at this, but I don't say anything.

"You all right?" she asks me.

"Erm," I reply, thrown by the question, "yeah? Yeah, I'm fine."

"Are you even convincing yourself with that one, Hazel?" she says, crossing her arms and meaning against the door frame, looking at me with raised eyebrows.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask defensively, crossing my arms and glaring at her.

"It's supposed to mean that you don't look or sound right at all," she says bluntly, not seeming to notice or care much about my glaring.

I continue to glare at her, until the look melts off my face and my shoulder sags, letting out a sigh.

"See, now you really don't look it," she says.

"All right, I may not look it or sound it, but I am," I say, a stab of impatience in my words, "so drop it."

"Uh-huh," she says disbelievingly, "I'm sure." I'm just about to say something to that, when she says, "Let's go on a walk."

I blink.

"I beg your pardon?" I say blankly.

"I said, let's go on a walk," she repeats.

"Now?" I ask.

"When else?" she replies. "It's only six o'clock - or is that too wild and dangerous for you?"

This is nothing but a bit of light teasing. It is no way a challenge, but in my bad mood, I take it as one.

"All right, fine, then," I say irritably, and walk over to my trunk to grab a jumper, because, even though it's August, it's still considerably chilly outside, courtesy of the Dementors.

Once I find one, I throw it on and follow Candy down the hall, down the stairs, and out of the house. We walk in silence until we reach Magnolia Crescent, and I spend my time looking around at the misty air and thinking miserably of the Dementors.

"So are you going to tell me what's up or not?" she says.

"Not," I reply.

"You are  _so_ predictable," she says, rolling her eyes.

"Excuse me," I say angrily, "how am I predictable?"

"It's so obvious that you'd go with that whole moody Nobody-Understands-Me thing," she replies, "like, really, give me a break."

"That's  _not_ what I'm doing!" I protest. "I just don't want to talk about it, is that such a crime?"

"Why don't you want to talk about it?" she asks.

"Because - there's so much to tell, I wouldn't even know where to start - "

"How about the beginning?" Candy suggests.

"Oh, hilarious," I say sarcastically, rolling my eyes.

"I was being serious," she says, and I look round at her to see that she's right.

"It's not just that," I insist. "It's - it's complicated, all right? Like, really complicated."

"Try me," she says challengingly.

I glare at her, before looking away and letting out a tiny noise of frustration.

"All right, I'll try you," I say. "Picture this: you've got the wizard world, and it's all peaceful and happy and nice, until this - this wizard, this very Dark wizard, the most powerful Dark wizard in the world, who everyone thought had disappeared for good, comes back. You'd think that the government would put their immediate efforts into stopping him, wouldn't you? They don't. They do absolutely nothing, and you want to know why? They're scared. They're absolutely bloody terrified of this wizard that they don't even want to believe that this wizard is back and is going to disrupt the peace that they worked so hard to rebuild. So this horrible, powerful Dark wizard gets a good hear to bide his time and prepare himself for when he finally becomes public with his return. And in the meanwhile, the government gets the media to ridicule the two people that know the truth on the matter and want to spread it, so that they becomes jokes to the world - oh, and did I mention that one of those people is your best friend?

" Now picture that all throughout this year, there are breakouts from the wizard prison, breakouts from the wizard's loyal followers, and there are all these deaths and arrests that are mysteriously happening, but it's not  _truly_ mysterious, because you know it's because of this wizard, but they're not likely to out it in the paper, are they, since they're being paid to shut up about the wizard.

"And then one day, it finally happens. This wizard becomes public. He appears right in the government building for all to see - and they do see, and after that, they take action. But they're late. Terribly, horribly late. He's had plenty of time, and now he's got support from all over the place: giants, Dementors - "

"What are Dementors?" asks Candy.

"Dementors," I say slowly, shaking my head and looking down at the ground. "You - you don't want to know."

"Try me," she repeats, now quite angry, and I suddenly see myself in her; the annoyance of people dismissing you and acting like you can't handle the truth, and it's much harder to not tell her things now.

"Dementors," I begin, "are awful, horrible - you can't even - you can't even imagine how awful they are until you're face to face with one. They're these tall creatures that glide more than they walk, and they're all grey and kind of look like a corpse that's decaying, and it takes these horrible breaths. They've got these scabbed, slimy-looking hands, and they're faces - oh, God - they - they haven't got eyes, it's just empty sockets, and there's just this big gaping hole instead of a mouth. They're creatures that drain all the hope and the happiness out of you, and they keep on doing that until you're nothing but a hollow, empty shell. They suck your soul out from your mouth - they call it the Dementors Kiss. They make it dark and cold and they just drown out everything, you can't hear anything but the sound of their horrible, rattling breaths, you can't feel anything but the cold and the hopelessness and the despair, you can't see anything but this white mist swirling around you, and you can't think of anything except all of your worst memories, all of your worst fears. There were some here just last year. You didn't see them, but you felt them. Remember when you told me about how there was a moment when everything felt all dark and cold, and you felt like you'd never be happy again? That's the Dementors."

"I - I see," Candy says in a high-pitched voice,  now looking quite pale. "Well... well, that's certainly good to know. Go on with your story."

"Well, point is, this wizard's got a lot more support now, and he's stronger. And this wizard is  _terrifying._ He's killed and tortured plenty of wizards and Muggles - erm, non-magical people - alike, including my parents, and he's got a  _huge_ amount of wizards following and supporting him. People don't even like to say his  _name,_ that's how scary he is. And he's back and rising back to his former power. And, make no mistake, he's making himself known: killing wizards and witches, so-called hurricanes in West Country, the destruction of the Brockdale Bridge, having his supported out one of the Junior Ministers under a curse that puts him under their control - "

"Those were  _him_?" Candy demands, her eyes wide.

"You bet it was," I confirm, nodding. "Not to mention, all this mist in the air?" I gesture around to prove my point. "Yeah, that's the Dementors. They're roaming about, and even worse, they're  _breeding._ So now you're terrified. You're terrified for yourself, for the people you care about, all of it. Add that to a best friend who's grieving the loss of their godfather by locking themselves in their room all the time and rarely talking to you, and the fact that the best friend is rumoured to be the one destined to stop this terrifying wizard - of course, you're not exactly inclined to believe the stuff newspapers write after reading enough of the rubbish they come out with for two hears, but still, you can't help but be worried - and you've got the exact reason why I'm apparently so predictably moody with the whole Nobody-Understands-Me thing going on."

Candy is silent for a very long time. As we continue to walk through Little Whinging, I watch her very pale face carefully until she speaks once more.

"You know, most people just have like... school troubles," she finally says.

I manage to laugh at that.

"Oh, make no mistake, I've got that too," I say, grinning. "But not at this very moment, since it's summer, and even if I did, I didn't want to bring the morale down with all of it."

"Yes, because it was very high before," Candy says sarcastically.

"Exactly!" I say with a grin.

"So, that's what you've got to deal with over in that school of yours?" she asks, shoving her hands in her pockets and looking around the street. "You know, I'm kind of starting to winder what makes you love your world so much, if that's what you're facing."

"Oh, no, don't get the wrong idea," I say earnestly. "Don't - don't think that it's all war and death and the scary stuff, there are good things, too. I mean, obviously the good outweighs the bad, otherwise I wouldn't love it, would I? It wouldn't be worth getting upset about and fighting for like I am, if it didn't. Besides, it seems like you can't have the good without the bad. Of course, that doesn't mean I'm not going to put everything I have into stopping the bad, though," I add matter-of-factly.

"You're brave, then," she comments.

"Thanks, but I mean, it's really not - we've all got something we'd fight for," I say, shrugging, "and if you haven't... well, honestly, that's a bit sad, then..."

"Yes, but not everyone actually goes out and fights whatever it is they need to," she points out.

"You would, though," I state, looking at her closely.

It's not a question. I know that she would. I'm not even entirely sure how I know, but something about her bold personality and her determination to get what she wants and needs shows me she would.

"Yes, I think I would, too," she concedes. "But I'm not everyone."

"True," I say. "But you're not no one, either."

She gives me a weird look for a moment, before letting out a laugh, looking away and shaking her head.

"I'll take that as a compliment,"

"Good," I say with a nod, "because you should."

At that moment, a voice behind us calls, "Hey, Candy!"

We turn to find a tall boy around our age with dark skin, hair, and eyes hurrying towards Candy. I recognise the boy, but it takes me a while to find the name. Danny Miller. I remember he was among the only people who did not join in on bullying Harry and I when we were kids. Of course, he didn't do anything to stop it, but at the time, I didn't really mind, because at least it was one less person pushing me over during school.

I shake off memories of the days I spent in Muggle schools, and watch as Danny Miller greets Candy with a very long and open kiss. I raise an eyebrow at this, taking a step away and looking around uncomfortably. Whenever my eyes fall on the kissing couple, all I can do is think that I'm never like this with Fred.

When they finally pull away, they seem to remember that I exist, because Danny clears his throat awkwardly and moves away, though he throws an arm around Candy, and Candy smiles awkwardly.

"Erm, yeah, Hazel, this is my boyfriend, Danny Miller," Candy says, gesturing to Danny. "Danny, this is Hazel Knight, my cousin. You two have met, obviously, but, well, it's been a while, so..."

"Hi, Danny," I greet, smiling and nodding slightly, trying not to laugh.

"Hey, Hazel," he says, smiling and waving slightly. "It's - er - it's been a while. You've, uh, you've changed," he gestures around at me vaguely. When Candy and I raise eyebrows at this, he quickly says, "Oh, not like  _that._ I'm only saying - well, you don't look like you're eleven anymore, that's all."

Candy grins, and I laugh.

"I suppose, yeah. You've changed, too," I comment. "I mean, you don't look eleven, either, and last time I saw you, you weren't snogging my cousin, so, you know... very different."

They both laugh at that, though they're blushing, something that makes me grin.

"Well, things - people, feelings - change, you know what I mean?" Candy says vaguely, smiling fondly up at Danny before looking back at me.

"Yeah, I reckon I do," I say, unable to stop myself from thinking about Fred.

"Hey, where  _have_ you been all these years?" Danny asks me. "I mean, there are rumours that you've gone to all sorts of reform schools, but you've never really seemed the type to be that bad..."

I exchange looks with Candy, before looking back at Danny with a small smile.

"Well, the rumours are true," I say with a shrug. "What can I say? I'm a rebel."

The slightly sarcastic tone in my voice makes him laugh.

"I see," he says, nodding. "Well, we all..." but he doesn't finish his sentence, trailing off awkwardly. It's clear he was going to say that they miss me, but stopped himself, due to the fact that it's very unlikely that anyone missed me back at Muggle school.

"I'm pretty sure nobody misses me, unless they miss pushing me around, but thanks for the thought," I say lightly.

"If it helps, they're all terrified of you now, considering you're now the rebellious, aggressive girl that goes to different reform schools all the time because she keeps getting kicked out," Danny informs me.

"I won't pretend like it's not satisfying," I say, smiling, and they laugh.

"Well, I just came over to tell you that my mum's roped me into babysitting my sister tomorrow, so I can't go on our date," he says, turning to Candy, "but we'll go Saturday and I'll make it extra special."

"Oh, fine," she says, looking slightly disappointed. "But it better be."

"Don't worry, it will," he insists, kisses her once more on the lips, waves at me and says it was nice to catch up, before hurrying away.

When he's gone, I turn to Candy with raised eyebrows.

"So, Danny Miller, huh?" I ask, nudging her.

"Very funny," she says, looking away, but she's smiling.

"When did that happen, if you don't mind me asking?"

"A couple months ago," Candy replies. "I just saw him, and it had been a while, and I don't know what happened, but everything just felt different, and he felt the same way, and he asked me out that night, and then... well, you know..."

"I see," I say with a nod, as we continue on with our walk. "Well, he has my approval, considering he's the only person besides Harry who didn't bully me when we were kids, and that's about all I've got to go by with the people here."

"Thank you for your blessing," she says, rolling her eyes.

"Well, don't just stand there and roll your eyes," I urge her. "Tell me about him!"

"Erm, well, he's excellent at snogging as you just saw," she begins, and I laugh. "And he's studying to become a lawyer - "

"Ooh, lawyer, huh? Good choice," I say, nudging her and winking.

She blushes as she continues.

"And he's really nice and funny and he's really good at listening and he's got excellent taste in music and he just - he makes me really happy, you know?" she says, smiling widely. "I just love being with him and I'm so glad I'm dating him."

"I'm really happy for you, Candy," I say, smiling at her. "You deserve someone like that."

"Thanks, so do you," she says. "Speaking of which... have you got someone, then?"

"Erm," I begin.

"It's all right I'd you haven't! I don't mean to embarrass you or anything," she adds quickly.

"No, no, I have got someone. It's just..." I trail off awkwardly.

As much as I fancy Fred, I simply don't want to go off on a rant about him and seem annoying, especially since I get the distinct impression that if I start I'll keep going without much of a filter.

"I don't kiss and tell, thank you very much," I say jokingly, quickening my pace so that I'm ahead of her.

"Oh, you'reso full of shit, Hazel," Candy says, laughing and hurrying to catch up with me.

"Don't know what you're talking about," I say in a dignified manner, looking away from her.

"All right, fine," she says, and my eyes flicker over to her for a moment and see that she has her hands raised in a sort of surrender.

I smile slightly but look away, head raised, until I start to think that, really, we all ought to be able to have a moment where you can indulge in gushing about your boyfriend.

"His name is Fred Weasley," I burst out, turning to look at her.

"Go on, tell me more," she says excitedly.

"Where to begin, with him," I say thoughtfully, grinning.

"Where'd you meet him?" she asks.

"I met him at school. You know, my school," I reply. "He was the first new person I met there, actually - and, no, we didn't start snogging when I was eleven, thank you very much," I add pointedly, noticing the look on her face. "What happened was that I ran right into the side of the train - long story - and he saw it happen and laughed at me, which really sums up a great part of our relationship, and helped me up and walked me over to an empty compartment and everything, it was very nice of him. Except I didn't really know how I felt about him or his brother - he's got a twin, by the way - until a couple months later, but that's not the point. So, yeah, that's how I met him. You know, I just remembered, your dad's met him. Two years ago. I don't reckon he liked him much, but that might be because, you know, he's a wizard and associated with me. Not the kind of things your dad likes."

"Oh, yeah," Candy says with a nod. "He complained about it for weeks afterwards."

"Why does that not surprise me?" I say.

"When did you start dating, then?"

"Last year," I reply, smiling vaguely at the memory.

"A year? That's pretty serious," she comments.

I just shrug at this.

"I guess so, yeah," I say, but can't help but be pleased. "I mean, it's going to be harder now, since he's left school and I've still - "

"Wait, what?" she demands. "He's left school? Has he graduated? He's older than you? By how much?"

"Relax, it's just two years," I say with a shrug. "And, well, he didn't  _necessarily_ graduate."

"You're dating an eighteen year-old?" she demands, and when I nod, she says, "Do you even know how jealous the girls here would be if they knew?"

I laugh at that.

"And what the hell do you mean he didn't  _necessarily_ graduate? I won't have you dating a no-good dropout, Hazel Knight," Candy states.

"Like you could do anything about it if I was," I say, rolling my eyes. "And what I mean is that he kind of - all right, so he and his brother have got this joke shop thing, and they've been planning it for over two years, probably longer, and then last year they were all ready to go with it, but they still had another year of school. So they go for another year, except there was this woman there, and she... well, let's just day that to call her a bitch would be sugarcoating it. And eventually she becomes headmaster at the school, and at one point they decide they're not going to put up with it anymore, and, really, like I said, they're ready to go with their joke shop. So, near the end of the school year, they wreak havoc all over the school, and then finally, they just make this big public escape, and they literally fly out of the school on broomsticks, and now they're running their joke shop and it's actually doing really well. That's what I mean."

"Ah, so he's a businessman, then?"

"Yes, I suppose so," I say with a slight snort.

"What's so funny?" Candy says.

"Well, I mean... I've known him since he was thirteen, it's just weird referring ti him as a businessman," I reply, shrugging.

"Anyways, go on, what's he like?" she urges.

"He's funny," I begin, "and he's sweet, and kind and smart and outgoing and daring and bold and charming and sarcastic - "

"No winder you like him, then," Candy mutters.

"Shut up," I say, nudging her. "And he's really brave - and, oh god, he'd laugh himself stupid if he could hear me right now - and I'm rambling, so I'll stop."

"I see," she says with a knowing smile. "All right, I've got to know... what does he look like?"

I laugh at the eagerness in her voice and say, "You've seen him. Remember in June, when you and your parents were picking me up, and there were those two boys who were talking to them first? He's the one with the - he's got darker eyes and - erm - he's got a freckle at the corner of his mouth that George - that's the name of his brother - doesn't have."

"Oh, him!" Candy says. "Yeah, I know the one. He's really hot - well, obviously they both are, since they're twins - well done, Hazel. Though, it's odd, I never thought you were the ginger type. I can see you liking freckles, though. And tall people, now thinking about it."

"How can you tell something like that?" I demand. "Oh, never mind, I suppose you're just weird."

"Am not," she protests. "Have you never noticed it before? You look at someone and kind of... predict what type of person they'd be into?"

I look at her blankly for a long time, before bluntly saying, "No."

"Well, you're the weird one, then," she says matter-of-factly. There's a moment of silence, before she says, almost contemplatively, "You know, he has got nice eyes, though."

"Don't," I say, inhaling sharply and my chest constructing slightly, because the only time I allow myself to think in depth about Fred is when I'm by myself and I can miss him and want him openly. "Please don't."

"Why? Not jealous, are you?" she asks cheekily, nudging me. "Don't worry, I won't steal him."

I smile, letting out a small laugh.

"No, it's not that, it's just - you're making me miss him more," I say, heaving a deep, dreamy sort of sigh.

"Dear God, Hazel," Candy says, looking at me with an exasperated sort of grin. "You're really into this guy, aren't you?"

"Pathetically so, yes," I reply.

"Well, he'd better be treating you real well, considering you love him as much as you do," Candy states, "because if he isn't, I don't care if he's a wizard or not, I'll - "

I stop dead in my tracks.

"Hang on," I say, and Candy stops as well, looking around at me with raised eyebrows, "who said anything about  _love_?"

Don't get me wrong. I do love Fred. That's something I've been aware of for a very long time, long before I started to like him, back when the idea of dating Fred was laughable to me. The thing is that the love I felt for him then was platonic love, so now that I'm dating him it's all a bit confusing, because I don't know if the love I feel for him is romantic or if it's just platonic with a bit of romantic feelings in it. So, do I love Fred Weasley? Absolutely. Am I _in love_ with him? That's another matter entirely.

"No one, but it just seemed obvious," Candy replies. "I mean, you've been dating for a year and the way you talk about him and the look on your face and everything... do you not love him?"

"I do, I do, it's just..." I begin, but trail off, trying to find the right words, "the thing is that he was my friend long before he was my boyfriend, and back before I liked him I knew I loved him, but you can feel that kind of love for anyone and everyone. And now that I'm dating him... it's not like I stopped loving him, because I still do, really, but... well, is it the same kind of love that I felt before with just more romantic feelings in it, or am I _in love_ with him?"

"Ah," Candy says, nodding, "I see."

"I wish I could," I huff.

Candy grins at that, walking over to me so that we're level once more.

"Well, not that my opinion means much, because it's your feelings and your boyfriend and all, but I reckon you love him," she says. "Like I said, considering how long you've been dating and everything, not to mention the way you get just by talking about him - it must be sickening to see you two together - I mean, it's the exact definition of a sappy romance film. All you need is some cliché love songs and a beach to go to while the sun is setting and you'll be good to go with your happily ever after."

"You always say sappy romance movies are stupid and fake," I say, raising an eyebrow at her.

"They are," she says with a nod, "until you find someone who makes them seem less stupid and fake. And it seems to me that you have."

"And have you?" I ask, jerking my head down the road where Danny Miller has long since disappeared.

"I don't kiss and tell, Knight," she says with a wink, grinning in a way that tells me the answer yes.

"Of course," I say, laughing. "Should have known."

"Yes, you should've," Candy agrees, and we start walking up the road again.

We continue on our walk until it gets dark and we both agree that Uncle Gabriel will have a fit if we stay out for much longer.

"I'll go in first," I say, because Uncle Gabriel has taken a leaf out of Vernon Dursley's book, and, like how Harry will be locked out if he comes home after Dudley, I'm locked out of the house and forced to sleep in the shed if I come back before Candy. I know from experience that he isn't bluffing.

Candy nods, and I knock on the door while Candy makes sure she's out of sight from the door and any windows.


	2. The Old Weasley Charm

**Distance Means Nothing**

**Chapter Two: The Old Weasley Charm**

 

Fred did not realise he loved Hazel until he stumbled across a photograph of them together. Something about the smile on her face as she looked from Fred to the camera and the way she laughed - though he couldn't hear it just from looking at the photograph, but, Merlin, did he want to - and waved at the camera and the fact that he had missed her like mad over the weeks that he hadn't seen her made him realise. Looking back on it, it was really surprising how long it had taken him to realise.

The more he thought about it, the more it made sense, and the more he realised that he loved Hazel in all sorts of ways. He loved her in the way that sometimes talking wasn't needed and her mere presence was enough, and in the way that presence was not enough and there needed to be talking and words of some sort. He loved her in the way that all he wanted to do is act like best friends and talk and joke and laugh like they always did, but also in the way that he needed to be anything but platonic and hold her and kiss her in every place and every way possible. He loved her in the way that he wanted nothing more than to be with her, so the fact that he hadn't seen her in so long was very upsetting, to say the least.

Several times, Fred just considered going over to Privet Drive and visiting her, but he couldn't find the time to, since believe it or not, running a successful business was very time consuming. So far now, he had to cope with writing letters back and forth, in which her replies always contained some sort of promise that they'd see each other soon (though she never said how soon, because he knew that she knew that she couldn't promise a specific date), and staring at photographs of her as opposed to the real thing.

One night, after the shop had closed up, Fred was lying in bed, looking at photographs of the two of them together, when George came into his room.

"I'm going out tonight, don't wait up on me, yeah?" he said, winking.

"Who with?" Fred asked, looking up at his twin; he noticed the way George repeatedly straightened out his robes and his brow furrowed slightly. "You going out on a date, or something, Georgie?"

"No," George replied, looking slightly disappointed to admit it. "I'm going out with Angelina. Oh, don't get that look on your face," he added, noticing his twin's expression. "I already told you, it's not a date."

"Then what is it?" Fred asked, grinning cheekily and sitting up straighter.

"It's - erm - it's a bit of catching up between old school friends," George answered. "Or, at least, that's what she called it."

"Old school _friends,_ she said, did she?" Fred said.

"Yep," George said, then sighed slightly. "If only I didn't mess up so badly, then it'd be a bit more than _friends._ What was I thinking, going to the ball with Katie?"

"you were thinking that Angelina already had a date, you wanted to make her jealous, and you're pretty good friends with Katie," Fred replied. "That's what you were thinking."

"Right, right..." George says, nodding and leaning against the doorframe, crossing his arms. "Blimey, that was stupid, wasn't it? I should be lucky she even considers us friends at all still, shouldn't I?"

Fred shrugged slightly.

"Well, I mean, you should remember that she only went with Kenneth Towler because she thought that you'd never ask her, so she was using him to get over you," he pointed out, "so, you know, you're both gits, so I suppose she figured that it'd be stupid to hate you."

George grinned, chuckling slightly.

"Maybe that's a reason we'd work out well. We're both gits, it's only logical that we go out."

It was Fred's turn to laugh at that.

"Hey, what've you got there?" George asked, nodding at the photo album in Fred's lap.

"Oh, it's a photo album," Fred replied, shrugging slightly.

George walked into the room and looked at the photos on the two open pages; one of Hazel in front of Hogwarts, her arms crossed and grinning in such a way that had anyone not known any better, they could've thought that Hazel constructed the castle behind her herself; the other of Fred and Hazel, smiling and laughing and messing around.

"You miss her, don't you?" George said, looking over at Fred.

"Yeah, I really do," Fred said.

"Yeah, so do I," George stated, sitting down on the foot of Fred's bed. "It's weird, sometimes I forget how much I really like Hazel, and then I don't see her for a long time and I remember and I start to miss her a lot. She makes things a lot more interesting, doesn't she? I mean, obviously it's never boring running a bloody _joke shop_ , but still."

Fred didn't say anything, opting to look back down at the two photos and nodding. Then, out of nowhere, he blurted, "I love her. Like, I'm in love with her."

He had half-expected George to be surprised or doubtful. Contrary to this, however, George simply nodded, looking entirely unsurprised.

"I know."

He looked back up at his twin, tilting his head slightly.

"How?"

"Fred, you idiot, we're twins, it's hard for me to not know stuff like this," George replied. "Besides, even if we weren't, anyone with eyes can see it from the way you look at her, and anyone with ears can see it from the way you talk to or about her."

"Oh," Fred said. "I suppose I haven't been that subtle, have I?"

"Never," George said, shaking his head and grinning slightly, a gesture Fred returned. "But if it makes you feel any better, neither has she."

"You think she loves me back?" Fred asked, half hopeful.

George looked at him in disbelief for several moments.

"It's true what they say; love _is_ blind," he scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You think it's only obvious that you love Hazel? It's just as clear that she loves you."

"Yeah?" Fred said, his eyebrows raising slightly.

"Yeah," George confirmed.

Fred looked back down at the two photos, an uncontrollable smile spreading across his face.

"Love may be blind, but I'd hardly call it a bad thing," he said.

He looked up when he heard George's laughter. He stood up, once again straightening his jacket and shaking his head.

"We're just a bunch of loved-up idiots, aren't we, Freddie?"

"Afraid so, Georgie," Fred replied, though he was grinning broadly now.

"It's not too bad, though, is it?" he mused. "Now if Angelina could think so, too... anyway, I ought to go, she'll be here soon."

"Alright, see you," Fred said, smiling. "Good luck on your - erm - catching up with old school friends."

"Thanks, appreciate it," George said, grinning and chuckling, before walking out of the room.

He lied down in bed, staring up at the ceiling, thinking, unsurprisingly, about Hazel. Merlin, he was being ridiculous. He was aware of it, at least. He was staying up thinking about her, like this was some silly little crush you have when you're younger, though this wasn't something new when it came to Hazel, and it hadn't been new for two years now.

He imagined himself in this exact position two years ago, before he had realised he fancied Hazel and came to terms with it, when he stayed up into the late hours of the night thinking about her, not understanding the warm, fuzzy, pleasant sort of feeling that spread across him when he did, but knowing that he liked it, even if it did confuse him. He remembered thinking that perhaps ignorance _was_ bliss.

And now here was two years later, and the only difference was that he understands the feelings that spread across. He still liked it, though; if anything, he liked it more than ever. And hey, maybe you didn't need to be ignorant to be blissful.

He decided there and then that next time he saw her, whenever that may be, he'd tell her he loved her. He couldn't wait to tell her, but he could never do it in a letter. His resolve hardened with a bit of time and suddenly, he was even more excited to see her than before, if that was possible.

For a split second, Fred felt fearful that Hazel wouldn't feel the same way. Then he remembered what George had said, that it was obvious that Hazel loved him, and relaxed. Besides, even if she didn't, that was fine - he supposed. Of course, it'd be upsetting, but he'd tell her it was fine, he wouldn't pressure her, he would act as though nothing had happened and wait until she felt the same way, because Hazel, frankly, was worth even the longest of waits.

It was not long until he heard a door close and George's voice cursing. Fred propped himself up on his elbows, his brow furrowing slightly.

"George?" he called.

There wasn't a reply. Fred frowned slightly, before getting to his feet and walking out of his room. He found George standing in the middle of the sitting room, with his hands shoved in his pockets and a frustrated expression on his face.

"Was the date that bad?" Fred asked, raising his eyebrows.

George looked up at him and nodded once.

"Go on, then," Fred said promptly, gesturing for his twin to tell him what had happened.

"It's not like it went _badly_ , I guess," George began, letting out a sigh and flopping down onto the sofa; Fred went and joined him. "I kept hinting that we could be more than just... old school friends, and she wasn't rejecting it, but she wasn't accepting it, either... and the thing is, I actually reckon she might fancy me, even a little. Just the way she looked at me... she must like me, if only a little bit."

"She'll come around, mate," Fred said encouragingly, clapping George on the back. "You've just got to give her a bit of time, that's all, then win her over."

"How, though?" George said, slightly hopelessly.

"Same as usual; turn on the old Weasley Charm," Fred replied, as though this should be obvious.

"You'll need to be a bit specific with that one," George stated, the corners of his lips twitching upwards in a smile, "because Ron's a Weasley, and he definitely doesn't have any sort of charm, Weasley or otherwise."

Fred laughed.

"Well, you can hardly count him. You know he never inherited it. We'll have to teach him."

"We could give him that one book. _Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches,_ you know the one," George pointed out, now grinning broadly.

"Now, that's an idea," Fred mused approvingly. "But I reckon you'll need to go over that a couple of times, first, if you're feeling so hopeless about Angelina."

"Good idea," George agreed. "And with that book and my natural charming personality, I should win Angelina over soon," he paused for a moment, then looked at Fred and added, slightly desperately, "Right?"

"Right," Fred said firmly.

They drifted off in conversation for a while, until Fred yawned, got to his feet and turned to George, stretching.

"I'm going to bed," he stated. "Don't beat yourself up about Angelina, mate, it'll work out."

"And if it doesn't?"

"If it doesn't..." Fred began, trailing off momentarily. "If it doesn't... well, there are other girls in the world."

"But none of them are Angelina," George said, sighing. Then he got to his feet and said, "You know what, I'm going to bed, too. Goodnight, Fred."

He walked out of the sitting room and disappeared down the hall. Fred watched the spot that George had disappeared from for several moments, before walking out and going back into his own room, where he thought about relationships; both George's with Angelina and his with Hazel.

He had told George that if things didn't work out with Angelina, there would be other girls, but he knew that it wasn't much help, because if things didn't end up working out between him and Hazel, the very last thing he'd want to hear was that there would be other girls, because he would not care, because the only girl he wanted was Hazel.

Fred was in love with Hazel; that much was almost painfully obvious to him now. There was a possibility - an apparently large one, according to George - that Hazel loved him back. But there was also a possibility that she did not love him back. He was still willing to take the risk and tell her, because their relationship was formed on a lot of risks, risks that, had they not been taken, their relationship would not be what it was. Besides, Hazel had been the one to take the risk and tell him she liked him, perhaps it ought to be him to be the first to take the risk and tell her that he loved her.

 _She's worth the risk,_ Fred thought, looking at the two photographs again before closing the photo album and putting it down on his bedside table. _She's worth every risk._

And even if she did not love him back, he tried to convince himself, it would still be alright. They could still work, they would still make it work, because even if she wasn't in love with him, she clearly still wanted to date him, and they would continue as normal until she felt the same way about him as he did her. Besides, Hazel had to live with fancying him when he only viewed her as a friend - and then he made it worse by pretending to go out with her as a prank - he could live with loving her when her feelings weren't quite so strong.

And was decided. When he next saw her, he'd talk to her and kiss her and hold her and laugh with her and do everything he'd been longing to do for weeks now, and he would tell her he loved her, not fearing the risk he would be taking - or at least, trying not to fear it. And as he lied in bed and began drifting off to sleep, he decided that ignorance was definitely not needed to feel blissful.


	3. Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans

**Distance Means Nothing**

**Chapter Three: Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans**

 

The next morning, when I go back upstairs to my room after breakfast, I see a small owl carrying a letter that seems to be too heavy for him. I recognise the owl as Errol and, feeling excited, hurry over to open the window and allow him inside. Errol flies through the window and collapses on my bed, clearly very exhausted.

I smile slightly, detach the letter from his leg, and carry him over to Midnight's cage, which is currently empty, since Midnight is currently delivering a letter to Remus.

"You rest up, yeah?" I mutter to Errol, closing the door of the cage, and Errol lets out a feeble hoot in reply.

I walk back across the room, sit down on my bed, and open up the letter, which, as I expected, is from Mr. Weasley.

_Dear Hazel,_

_How are you doing? Are your aunt and uncle treating you well? I know you've been telling us that they've been leaving you well alone lately, but I'd like to make sure. Remember, if they treat you badly, just tell us and we'll take good care of it!_

_Anyway, I'm writing this letter to tell you that I'll be picking you up this Saturday at eleven o'clock to take you to our home, where you're very much welcomed to stay for the remainder of the summer holidays. Please reply soon with an answer on whether or not the date and time is alright with you._

_Hoping you're well._

_Sincerely,_

_Arthur Weasley._

I grin broadly, already excited for Saturday. I only have to spend three more days in this terrible place, then I'm free to go. I scribble down a quick reply ensuring that I'm well, that my aunt and uncle haven't been bothering me much at all, that the date and time is perfect with me, and asking how he and the rest of the Weasleys are.

I look at Errol, who's passed out in Midnight's cage, and decide to give him a couple of hours of rest before I give him my reply. In the meantime, I decide to inform the Martins that I will be leaving.

I find them in the sitting room, Uncle Gabriel's eyes glued to the television, where he's watching the news, Aunt Daisy flipping through a magazine, muttering to herself about young starlets and handsome actors, and Candy reading a book.

"Complete idiot," Uncle Gabriel mutters darkly, and I look over at the television to see an interview with the Prime Minister. "The entire country's going to shit and he's not doing anything about it."

 _Well, there's only so much a Muggle can do about the most powerful Dark wizard of all time,_ I think to myself, but decide against saying it out loud; instead, since my presence has gone unacknowledged for what's not the first time and will definitely not be the last time, I clear my throat in a McGonagall-type way, since I learned long ago that it will take you anywhere you need to go.

Everyone looks up.

"Oh," Uncle Gabriel grunts, looking and sounding disappointed, "it's just  _you._ "

I really don't know who else it could have been, since the Martins are all in here, but don't comment on it.

"Yes, only me, I'm afraid," I agree. "And whats more, I've got news."

"Yeah? What?" Uncle Gabriel demands.

"I'm leaving," I say bluntly, seeing no point in beating around the bush. "On Saturday. At eleven o'clock. Mr. Weasley's taking me - you know, my lot."

"You haven't gotten my permission," Uncle Gabriel grunts. "I could forbid you."

"Yes, I suppose you could," I agree. "But then you'll have to spend the rest of the summer with me, and I was under the impression that the whole lot of you despised me and wanted to spend as little time with me as possible. Then again, maybe I was wrong the whole time and you all secretly adore me."

Uncle Gabriel glares at me, Aunt Daisy spares me a moment of her time to give me a dirty look before returning her gaze to her magazine, while Candy merely glances at me for a moment, gives me the tiniest of half smiles, and returns to her book. I look back at Uncle Gabriel and can see that his resolve is breaking; clearly, his desire to show me that he detests me is stronger than his desire to deny me of what I want.

"Fine," he says gruffly. "You can have that Weasley bloke take you away from here, and good riddance. Saturday can't come soon enough."

 _I know exactly how you feel,_ I think, but instead say, "Thank you."

I turn on my heel and walk away from the sitting room and back up to my bedroom. Once there, I look out the window to find that, as usual, the curtains to Harry's room are drawn. I bite down on my lip and look away, my gaze instead focusing on an unopened box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. An idea suddenly strikes me, and I look from the box to Harry's window, until my resolve hardens. I grab onto the box and hurry back down the stairs.

"I'm going out," I call once I'm at the door. "I'll be back - erm - whenever."

A grunt is my only reply, which is all that I really need. I open the door, fling myself out into the foggy summer day, closing the door behind me. I jog across the lawn until I'm at the doorstep of number four. Hoping it won't be one of the Dursleys but knowing it's going to be anyway, I knock on the door, hiding the box behind my back.

It's Dudley Dursley who answers the door.

"Hazel," Dudley says as greeting, nodding at me and leaning against the doorframe.

"Dudley," I say shortly. "Is Harry in?"

"He's never out anymore, is he?" Dudley replies.

"Great," I say, "can I come in and see him?"

"Give me a good reason as to why I should."

"Because I'm friends with him and I want to see him and I'm not going to bother any of the rest of you," I reply, losing my patience.

"You know, I don't think Harry wants to see you," Dudley says matter-of-factly.

"Right, but I wasn't asking for your opinion, so if you could just let me in - "

"Like, he's been by himself for most of the holiday, and the only time he's not is when you force him not to be," Dudley continues, ignoring me. "I mean, for years he's been going out of his way to see you, but not anymore, and it just seems to me that if he wanted to see you so badly, he would've done something about it by now."

"Fantastic, Dudley, but again, I wasn't asking for your bloody opinion," I snap, pretending that his words have not hit me hard; was I just bothered Harry with my attempts to talk? Did he want me to leave him well alone? "So, can you just let me in and stop wasting my time?"

"Fine," Dudley says, grinning as he steps aside to let me in, his hands up in surrender. "But don't go crying to me when he yells at you to leave, or something."

"Believe me, I won't," I say shortly, walk past him, and hurry up the steps to Harry's room.

Once there, I go to knock, but then stop, hesitating slightly, because Dudley's words are still ringing in my mind. Would Harry be pleased to see me? Or will he be upset? Annoyed? Is that how he's been feeling every time we've talked this summer?

Then I shake my head, because Dudley is just trying to get to me, and I can't let it work. So, ignoring my apprehensions, I knock on the door.

"Harry?" I call softly. "It's me, will you open up?"

For a moment, there's silence on the other end, then there's the sound of footsteps, and the door opens to reveal Harry on the other end, looking very much that he's only woken up recently.

"Hi," he says.

"Hi," I say, pause, then add, "D'you want to talk? Not about - you know - just anything," I add quickly, then refrain from cringing. Trying to salvage the situation, I quickly hold up the box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. "I've brought food."

He looks from me to the box and back again; then he smiles very faintly.

"Yeah, sure, come in," he says, then moves out of the way. As I walk into the room, he adds, "Sorry for the mess."

The room is, indeed, very messy, the floor covered in scraps of parchment and sweet wrappers. I just shrug, clearing away a bit of the desk before sitting on it, while Harry flops onto his bed.

"Don't worry about it, I've put up with you when you were messier," I say jokingly. I take the box, open it, and pull out a green bean. "So, what do you reckon?"

Harry looks at it contemplatively for a moment, before saying decisively, "Bogies."

I roll my eyes slightly, saying, "You're disgusting."

"Hey, it's possible!" Harry says, holding his hands up in surrender. "What d'you think, then, if you're so brilliant?"

I look at it thoughtfully for a moment, before saying, "Sprouts."

"Well, that's boring, isn't it?" he says, raising his eyebrows. When I just shrug, he adds, "Well, go on, then."

I hesitate for a moment, before popping it in my mouth. I chew carefully for a few seconds, a thoughtful expression on my face, before swallowing.

"What was it?" Harry asks, hopefully adding, "Bogies?"

"No," I say firmly, shaking my head, "it was grass."

After that, I hand him the box, where he takes out a black bean. We have a heated argument for several minutes, where I insist that it has to be leather, while he argues that it's bound to be coal, only to find out when he eats it, it's only black liquorice. And so it continues like that, each of us eating a bean, but only after arguing on what kind of flavour it's going to be, with one of us being right sometimes, or the both of us being way off at other times. It's a good thing that when they say every flavour, they mean every flavour, otherwise this would've gotten boring years ago; Harry eats a pink one that turns out to be cotton candy, I take a chance with a brown one that turns out to be cinnamon (though Harry did have to egg me on a bit), and Harry chews on a red one that turns out to be ketchup.

"So," I say after a while, holding up a white bean after a while, "what do you think?"

"Vanilla," he decides, causing me to shake my head. "What?"

"Last time I had strawberry, the time before that I had watermelon, and the time before that I had blueberry," I reply. "I've been lucky too many times!"

"What do you think, then?"

"Soap," I decide, after a moment of thought.

When he indicates for me to go on, I take a hesitant sort of bite, to find that it's coconut.

"Anyway," I say, as I toss him the box, "what's up?"

"Erm, Dumbledore's coming to take me to the Burrow on Friday," he replies, as he too picks up a white bean. "I say mayonnaise, what d'you think?"

"Marshmallow," I reply. "Really? Well, that's... nice of him."

And it is; it's just that there must be something else to it, if Dumbledore's going out of his way to do it.

"Yeah, if he even shows up," he says, shrugging, "anything could happen, couldn't it? It might not even be from him; maybe it's a trick or a joke or a trap," he shrugs, before popping the bean into his mouth, then cringing. "Well done, Hazel, you've jinxed me. It was soap."

I let out a laugh.

"Sucks to be you, doesn't it, Potter?" I say, grinning as I accept the box from him.

"Shut up," he says, grinning. "Anyway, what's up with you?"

"Nothing much," I shrug, carefully extracting another green bean. "Erm, Mr. WEasley's coming to get me on Saturday, though. Hmm... I'll go with spinach."

"Nah, it's definitely bogies this time," Harry says, shaking his head. "That's good, though."

"You've said it's bogies every single time I've gotten a green one!" I protest, sitting up straighter. "You're like the boy who cried wold. It is, though, isn't it? It's lucky we haven't had to stay here very long."

"Well, then, eat it and prove that it's not," he retorts.

Rolling my eyes slightly, I pop it into my mouth, then cringe slightly. With extreme difficulty I swallow it down, then glare at Harry.

"Screw you, Harry," I grumble, because this time it was bogies.

He lets out a triumphant laugh, while I just cross my arms and pretend to be upset, when, now thinking about it, it's quite funny.

" _Anyway_ ," I say pointedly, once I've allowed him a good laugh and I've let out a few myself, handing him the box, "what time is Dumbledore coming to get you?"

"Erm - eleven," Harry replies, taking the box and pulling out a red one. "Oh, this'll be cherry."

"No, it's tomato," I say confidently. "Anyway, that ought to be interesting, won't it? Dumbledore as your escort, I mean."

"Oh... yeah, interesting," Harry mumbles, looking rather uncomfortable, before popping the bean into his mouth. "Chilli powder."

"Something up, Harry?" I ask, watching him closely as I take the box from him.

"No, why?" he replies, avoiding my gaze.

"You just look... erm - preoccupied," I reply carefully.

Something about the look on his face makes me wonder what had happened when Dumbledore had taken Harry back to his office after all that happened in the Department of Mysteries.

"Well, it's nothing," Harry says shortly, though I can tell he's lying.

There's a very long silence, in which I contemplate whether or not I should bring up Sirius. I know he's still grieving, I don't know whether now is a good time, but I do know that he's going to have to talk about it  _eventually_ , otherwise who knows if he'll get better.

Finally, I take the risk.

"Harry, if this is about Siri - "

He stands up abruptly.

"I have to start packing," he says loudly, "you know, Dumbledore coming to get me in two days and all. You ought to start, too, best not to leave it until the last minute."

I look at him for a very long time. It doesn't take much to see that packing is the last thing on his mind. I don't press the matter, however. Instead, I get to my feet and nod.

"Of course," I say, "good idea. I'll see you - erm - I'll see you around, Harry."

"Right, yeah, bye," he says, not looking at me.

Refraining from sighing, I walk out of the room, closing the door behind me, and walking down the stairs and out of the house. I pray not to see Dudley, because I don't want to deal with any comment that he might have. However, I don't come across him until I'm out of the house. I see him a little ways ahead down the street, along with one of his friends, bullying and pushing around two kids who could not be older than eight.

"No, I don't think so," I mutter to myself, and stride down the street until I'm level with them. "Leave them  _alone_."

The four people turn towards me. Dudley and his friends exchange glances, then start laughing.

"What are you going to do about it?" Dudley calls, crossing his arms.

I stand there, silent for several moments, before I draw myself up to my full height (which, admittedly, still isn't taller than Dudley or his friend) and move quickly and quietly until I'm right in front of Dudley.

"Do you think it's funny taking the piss out of people when they can't defend themselves?" I demand, prodding him hard on the chest as I talk. "Or do you think it's funny  _because_ they can't defend themselves? Well, then, Dursley, try taking the piss out of me, and see if it's - so -  _funny_ \- then!"

"C'mon, Big D, you can't let a girl beat you up!" his friend calls.

I turn sharply to him, and walking towards him, say, "You think it's so shameful to be beat up by - oh, God  _forbid_ \- a girl, but meanwhile, you're beating up two eight year-olds?"

I give him one last disgusted look, before turning back to Dudley, my arms crossed.

"You're not going to use - use - you-know-what," he says to me in a low voice.

"Try me," I say softly, pulling out my wand and twirling it between my fingers, but keeping it out of sight of Dudley's friend and the two eight year-olds.

"They'll expel you!" he insists.

"Let's see if I care," I reply.

He looks from me to my wand apprehensively for a moment, before turning to his friend and muttering, "C'mon, let's just get out of here."

His friend looks like he wants to argue, but Dudley gives him a look that silences him, and together, the two of them walk up the street, grumbling darkly.

I shove my wand into the waistband of my jeans and turn back to the two kids.

"You two alright?" I ask gently.

They both nod.

"Thank you, they kept bothering us," one of them, a girl with dark, curly hair says.

"Yeah, well, if they bother you again, just tell me and I'll take care of it," I say, smiling at them kindly.

"Thank you," repeats the other kid, a boy with loads of freckles on his face, says. "Why did you help us? What if they got you, too?"

I shrug.

"I'm just tired of people pushing others around just because they can," I reply, smiling and bending down so that I'm level with them. "Besides, I'm going to tell you a secret: they're not very scary at all, just people who make other people feel small, so that they feel big. The only trick is to show them that they can't."

"You know, you're not as bad as they say," the girl says.

"Oh, yeah? And what do they say?" I ask, though I already know; everyone on Privet Drive mutters and points as I walk past, whispering about that awful Knight girl, who's known to be aggressive and was so terrible she had been kicked out of several reform schools.

"They say you're mean and they say you're a bully and that you hurt people," she replies. "But you're really nice and you stand up to bullies."

"Well, I'm glad  _you_ think so," I say, smiling at her. "As long as you two don't believe it, then that's all that matters."

"We don't," the boy assures me. "I wish more people didn't, though."

I simply smile and shrug at him.

"Ah, it's alright," I state, then stand upright again. "In any case, you two ought to go back home, before anybody here sees us and writes you off as a troublemaker like me - then again, not like anybody could call people as adorable as you two troublemakers."

They both grin up at me, before nodding, waving, and running away in the other direction. I watch them until they're out of sight, before sighing slightly and walking back to number five. I knock on the door, and upon Aunt Daisy opening it, walk into the house, ignoring the dark comment she mutters under her breath when she sees that it's me.

I walk up the stairs to my bedroom to find Errol still fast asleep in Midnight's cage. I let out a tiny sigh, putting my hands on my hips; I'd expected him to at least be awake by now.

 _I suppose that letter's going to have to wait,_ I think.

It's not long until I see Midnight at the window, looking much less exhausted than Errol, a letter attached to his leg that must be Remus' reply. I cross the room to allow him inside, where he lands on my desk beside the cage, his leg out for me to take the letter. I detach it carefully from his leg, toss the letter onto the bed, then look at Midnight's cage, where Errol is sleeping, and give Midnight a small apologetic grin.

"Sorry, but you might have to share for a while, if that's alright," I say.

He just gives a small hoot of agreement, and flies in beside Errol in his cage, tucking his head under his wing and soon falling asleep. Sighing, I sit down on the bed and open the letter.

 

***

 

The rest of the day and the next day is uneventful, except for the fact that I finally get to sending Mr. Weasley my reply and get a letter from Fred and George respectively throughout the two days. Regardless of the uneventfulness of Thursday, when I go to bed, I'm completely exhausted, falling asleep quickly.

I wake up rather quickly, too, because of my nightmares.

A lot of the time it starts off with the usual one of my parents dying, but all these stories of deaths and disappearances are getting to me, so that it's now ranging from


	4. Results

**Distance Means Nothing**

**Chapter Four: Results**

 

The following Saturday morning, I wait impatiently for ten o'clock to come, checking over my trunk repeatedly just to give myself something to do, even though I've done it multiple times already. Eventually, I give up and start looking out the window in hopes of seeing Mr. Weasley, because there's only so many times that one can decide to 'just make sure I've got all my books.'

Once I get tired of watching the street of Privet Drive that's empty except for briskly walking adults or playing children, I look away and flop down onto my bed. I start counting sheep, but then stop in fear of falling asleep, so instead I resign myself to playing with some loose threads of my bedsheets. But then it's not long for me to leap to my feet and make sure that I've packed all my socks.

Halfway through checking, I hear a knock on the door. I look at the clock for what must be the umpteenth time this morning, see that it's ten-past ten and decide that it must be Mr. Weasley, and eagerly hurry down the stairs, deciding it will be best if I answer the door as opposed to one of the Martins.

Uncle Gabriel is halfway down the hall when I make it downstairs.

"Don't worry, I've got it!" I call, my hand on the doorknob.

"Check who it is, idiot girl!" he hisses. "What if it's someone else?"

Rolling my eyes, I go up on tiptoe to peer through the peephole. On the other side I see a man, tall and thin and balding but red-haired all the same on the other side of the door, dressed in his Muggle-best, if only he knew what Muggles actually wore. Mr. Weasley.

"It's my lot, don't worry," I say, then fling open the door.

"Ah, Hazel!" he says, smiling down at me.

"Good to see you, Mr. Weasley," I say, grinning and shaking his hand.

"And you," he replies, crossing the threshold. He notices Uncle Gabriel, standing as though frozen in the middle of the hallway, looking rather frightened but trying to look intimidating, and says, "Ah, hello! Hope you've been well," then he turns back to me and says in a low voice, glancing furtively at Uncle Gabriel, "How have you been Hazel? Everything alright over here?"

"Everything's been fine," I reply, smiling and nodding. "Don't worry, something's made them suddenly change their behaviour. If only I knew why..."

He smiles.

"Good, good..." he says. "Anyway, we best get going as soon as we can, have you got all your stuff?"

"Yeah, it's upstairs, just a minute," I say, nodding, before hurrying upstairs into my room, grabbing my trunk and Midnight's cage, which is currently empty again, as the owl in question is off delivering a letter to Remus, and go to walk back down the hall, when a voice stops me.

"Hazel?"

I turn to find myself face-to-face with Candy.

"Oh, hi," I say, smiling and shifting around the trunk and cage so that they're easier to carry. "Something up? Only I've got to go soon..."

"No, I just - I just wanted to say bye," she says, then takes a deep breath. "And - erm - I wanted to ask you a favour."

"Sure," I reply, "anything."

"I know you've got that owl of yours and you use it to write letters and everything, so I wanted to ask you to... to write to me."

"Wait - what?" I say rather blankly.

"I wanted to know if you'd - you'd send me letters and we could write while you're gone," she says, now looking rather uncomfortable. "Obviously, it's fine if you don't want to, but - "

"No, no it's fine!" I say quickly, shifting my things once more. "I'm just a bit surprised, that's all. Besides, I don't reckon your mum and dad will much like it."

"No offence, but my mum and dad don't much like anything that involves you," Candy says, shrugging, "but who says they have to find out?"

I look at her for a while; then I grin broadly.

"I'll see you later, Candy," I say. "Look out for Midnight at around... midnight."

She grins back and waves, a gesture I return as best as I can with full hands, then I turn around and walk back down the stairs to where Mr. Weasley is standing waiting for me, Uncle Gabriel still staring at him, Aunt Daisy now by his side.

"Well, best get going, then," Mr. Weasley says when he sees me.

"Right," I say, nodding, then turn to Uncle Gabriel and Aunt Daisy and awkwardly say, "Erm... bye."

Uncle Gabriel looks from me to Mr. Weasley and back again, grunting, "Bye."

Aunt Daisy gives a weak little whimper and wave.

"I think that's as good as any of this is going to get," I say in an undertone to Mr. Weasley. Noticing the expression on his face, I add, "It's no problem, it'll all get much better once I'm gone."

"Right," he says, with a trace of reluctance, staring at Uncle Gabriel and Aunt Daisy. Then he turns back to me, rubs his hands together and cheerfully says, "Off we go, then!"

He opens the door and we walk out into the summer day. I wait until we're a safe distance from number five before I speak.

"Mr. Weasley, how are we going to get there?"

"We're going to do Side-Along Apparition," he replies. "I was going to use Floo Powder, until I remembered the fiasco at Harry's place and decided not to risk it with yours, because I assumed your fireplace would be eckletic, too, am I right?"

"Yeah, you are. Except it's called electric," I say, grinning slightly.

"Oh, yes, right," he says, nodding. "Anyway, I decided it'd be safe to do Side-Along Apparition now, since you're going to start learning how to Apparate this year, anyway, and this way you'll at least know what it feels like, so you're not surprised when you first manage it. We just need to get to a place without any people, so we're not seen... there's already enough going on at the Ministry without having to worry about Muggles having sen two wizards Apparate."

"What's going on in the Ministry?" I ask him. "With all the attacks and stuff that's been happening?"

"It's been complete chaos," he replies. "We're trying to get the situation under control, but it's not working very well, as you can imagine."

"How's Rufus Scrimgeour?" I say.

"Better than Fudge, at least," Mr. Weasley answers. "He's still not the best, but I suppose it's a step up. There's so much to do, people don't quite know what to do, so he likes to make it seem like we're getting close to controlling the situation," he pauses for a moment, then says, "I've - I've been promoted. Head of the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects."

"Really?" I say, straightening up slightly. "That's excellent, congratulations!"

"Thank you," he says, smiling at me. "Of course, I miss my old position very much, but with everything going on with You-Know-Who, people are taking advantage of all the panic by giving people instructions for defensive spells that actually make your ears fall off or make Metamorph-Medals that are supposed to change your appearance at your will, but actually just make you turn a rather unpleasant orange colour or make tentacle-like warts spread all over their bodies. It's got to be done. Speaking of which, we really need to be quick, because I've got to go to work right afterwards..."

Finally, we duck deep into an alley, and after making sure nobody is looking or coming, Mr. Weasley turns to me.

"Grab onto my arm very tightly, since you haven't Apparated yet," he says, holding it out for me to take.

I hesitate for a moment, before obeying, excited to Apparate for the first time.

"Fair warning, it's not particularly pleasant, especially not the first time, so brace yourself," he advises me.

I nod, though I have to wonder how bad it can really be.

"Here we go," he says.

I feel Mr. Weasley's arm twist away from me and redouble my grip; the next moment, everything is black, I'm being pressed very hard from all directions; I can't breathe, there are iron bands tightening around my chest; my eyeballs feel as though they're being forced into the back of my head; my eardrums are being pushed deeper into my skull - and then it all stops.

I take deep, long breaths of the air around me. I feel as though I've just been forced through a very tight tube and now I'm finally free. It registers into a part of my mind that the alley we were in has vanished and we're now at the Burrow. I double over, clutching my stomach and groaning slightly.

"So, that was Apparating?" I ask, raising my head to look at him.

"Yes," he says, nodding, "I told you it's not very pleasant the first time. You'll get used to it. You didn't do too badly, though. At least, you haven't thrown up yet, and a lot of people do the first time."

"Maybe you shouldn't jinx it," I groan, straightening up and staggering slightly, and he laughs.

He looks at the door of the Burrow and says, "You go on and tell Molly that I had to go down to work right away. She'll understand."

I nod, and we bid each other goodbye, before he turns on the spot and Apparates. I look at the spot he had just disappeared from and decide that Apparating is much cooler to look at than to actually  _do_.

Then I tear my eyes away from the spot, walk up to the front door, and knock.

"Who's there?" Mrs. Weasley's voice calls. "Declare yourself!"

"Erm - it's - it's Hazel Knight," I reply rather awkwardly.

"Hazel!" Mrs. Weasley says, and the door swings open. "Oh, hi, it's so nice to see you!"

She moves aside to allow me inside and I cross the threshold. Mrs. Weasley hugs me tightly once I'm inside, then pulls away to examine me for a moment.

"Come on, I'll get you something to eat, I imagine those Muggles haven't been feeding you properly."

"Thank you," I say, smiling at her as I follow her into the kitchen. "Oh, Mr. Weasley wanted me to tell you that he's gone straight to work."

"Yes, I'd thought he'd do so," she says, nodding. "He's been promoted, you know, he's heading for the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects."

"Yeah, he told me, it's fantastic!" I say.

"You are kind," she smiles, as I sit down at the table in the kitchen. "It's a very important job, with all the chaos and panic going around these days, but I'm afraid it's a bit more time consuming than his old position. Still, I told him it was quite silly to miss playing with spark plugs and all that Muggle rubbish."

She gives me a stern look, as though it's me who has been missing playing with Muggle objects, before tipping a rather large quantity of scrambled eggs onto my plate. I thank her again, before starting to eat, talking to her all the while about Mr. Weasley's new position and learning more and more about it. When I'm finished eating, I stand up and go to clear up, but Mrs. Weasley stops me before I can.

"Don't worry about that, dear, I'll take care of that," she says. When I open my mouth to say something, she insists, "Don't worry, it's fine. You go up and put your stuff away, and I'll expect you'll want to see Harry, Ron, and Hermione. They're upstairs in Fred and George's room, Harry's using it for the summer."

I hesitate for a moment, then nod and thank her again and leave the kitchen, taking my stuff and putting them in Ginny's room, since that's where I always stay, before walking down to the second floor to Fred and George's room.

"Don't worry about that, Mum's bringing you up a tray; she reckons you look underfed," Ron's voice says from the other side of the door. "So, what's been going on?"

"Nothing much, I've just been stuck at my aunt and uncle's, haven't I?" Harry's voice replies.

I then open the door carefully, slip inside, and say, "Well, I made it very exciting, obviously."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione all look up at me.

"Hazel!" they say in unison.

Hermione leaps up to hug me, causing me to stumble slightly before regaining my balance and hugging her back, grinning slightly.

"How are you?" she asks when we pull away.

"I'm fine, how're you?" I ask.

"Fine, fine, I'm great," she replies, grinning.

I walk across the room until I'm level with Ron.

"Hazel," he greets, smiling.

"Ronald," I say, smiling back at him.

I look up at Harry, who's sitting up in bed, bearing signs of having woken up recently, and for a moment we just look at each other awkwardly.

"Harry," I finally say, nodding. "Long time, no see."

"Yeah, must've been - what? - a whole day?" he replies, grinning.

"Practically a lifetime," I say, sitting crosslegged on the edge of Harry's bed, leaning against the wall, as Hermione sits down in front of me.

"Anyway, come off it," Ron says, turning to Harry. "You've been off with Dumbledore!"

"It wasn't that exciting. He just wanted me to help persuade this old teacher to come out of retirement. His name's Horace Slughorn."

"Oh," Ron says, looking disappointed. "We thought - "

Hermione shoots a warning look at Ron, who changes tack at top speed.

" - we thought it'd be something like that."

"You did?" Harry says, amused.

"Yeah... yeah, now that Umbridge has left, obviously we need a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, don't we? So, er, what's he like?"

"He looks a bit like a walrus and he used to be the Head of Slytherin," Harry says. "Something wrong, Hermione?"

For Hermione is watching him as though expecting strange symptoms to manifest themselves at any moment. She quickly rearranges her facial features into an unconvincing smile, however.

"No, of course not! So, um, do you think Slughorn will be a good teacher?"

"Dunno," Harry replies. "Can't be worse than Umbridge, can he?"

"I know someone who's worse than Umbridge," a voice behind us announces. Ginny slouches into the room, looking irritable. "Hi, Harry, Hazel."

"What's up with you?" Ron asks.

"It's her," Ginny replies, plopping down on the bed beside me. "She's driving me mad."

"What's she done now?" Hermione says sympathetically.

"It's the way she talks to me - you'd think I was about three!"

"I know," Hermione says, lowering her voice. "She's so full of herself."

"Can't you lay off her for five seconds?" Ron says angrily.

"Oh, that's right, defend her," Ginny snaps. "We all know that you can't get enough of her."

I look between the three in bewilderment. I had thought beforehand that they were talking about Mrs. Weasley, but saying that Ron can't get enough of his mother is a bit of an odd thing to say. I exchange confused looks with Harry, before looking back at Ron, Hermione, and Ginny.

"Who are you - ?"

But my question is answered before I can finish it. The bedroom door flies open again, and Harry yanks his bedcovers up to his chin so hard that Hermione, Ginny, and I slide off the bed and onto the floor.

A young woman holding a heavily laden breakfast tray is standing in the doorway, a woman of such breathtaking beauty that it makes me feel slightly inadequate and makes the room seem slightly airless. She's tall and willowy with long blonde hair and seems to emanate a faint, silvery glow.

"'Arry," she says in a throaty voice. "Eet 'as been too long."

As she sweeps over the threshold towards him, Mrs. Weasley comes in, looking rather cross.

"There was no need to bring up the tray, I was just about to do it myself!"

"Eet was no trouble," Fleur Delacour says, setting the tray on Harry's knees and swooping to kiss him on each cheek. "I 'ave been longing to see 'im. You remember my seester, Gabrielle? She never stops talking about 'Arry Potter. She will be delighted to see you again."

"Oh... is she here?" Harry croaks.

"No, no, silly boy," Fleur says with a tinkling laugh. "I mean next summer, when we - but do you not know?"

Her blue eyes widen and she casts Mrs. Weasley a reproachful glance.

"We hadn't got around to telling him yet," Mrs. Weasley says.

Fleur turns back to Harry, swinging her silvery sheet of hair so that it whips Mrs. Weasley across the face.

"Bill and I are going to be married!"

"Oh," Harry says blankly, as I note that Hermione, Ginny, and Mrs. Weasley are all determinedly avoiding one another's gaze and look at them with slightly raised eyebrows. "Wow. Er - congratulations!"

She swoops down upon him and kisses him again.

"Bill is very buzy at ze moment, working very 'ard, and I only work part-time at Gringotts for my Eenglish, so he brought 'ere for a few days to get to know 'is family properly. I was so pleased to 'ear you would be coming - zere isn't much to do 'ere, unless you like cooking and chickens! Well - enjoy your breakfast, 'Arry!"

With that, she turns gracefully and seems to float out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her, while Mrs. Weasley makes a frustrated noise.

"Mum hates her," Ginny says quietly.

"I do not hate her!" Mrs. Weasley whispers crossly. "I just think they've hurried into this engagement, that's all!"

"They've known each other a year," Ron points out, looking oddly groggy and staring at the closed door.

"Well, that's not very long! I know why it happened, of course. It's all this uncertainty with You-Know-Who coming back, people think they might be dead tomorrow, so they're rushing all sorts of decisions they'd normally take time over. It was the same last time he was powerful, people eloped left, right, and centre - "

"Including you and Dad," Ginny points out slyly.

"Yes, well, your father and I were made for each other, so what was the point in waiting?" Mrs. Weasley says. "Whereas Bill and Fleur... well... what have they really got in common? He's a hardworking, down-to-earth, sort of person, whereas she's - "

"A cow," Ginny nods. "But Bill's not that down-to-earth. He's a Curse-Breaker, isn't he, he likes a bit of adventure, a bit of glamour... I expect that's why he's gone for Phlegm - "

"Stop calling her that," Mrs. Weasley says sharply, as Hermione and Harry laugh and I bring a hand to my mouth to stop myself from joining them. "Well, I'd better get on... eat your eggs while they're warm, Harry."

Looking rather careworn, she leaves the room. Ron still does not seem to be over being in Fleur's presence; he's shaking his head experimentally in  way that reminds me of a dog trying to rid its ears of water.

"Haven't you gotten used to her, since she's living in the same house as you?" I ask.

"Well, you do," Ron replies, "but when she jumps out at you unexpectedly, like she did just then..."

"It's pathetic," Hermione says furiously, striding away from Ron as far as she could and turning to face him with her arms folded when she reaches the wall.

"You don't really want her around forever?" Ginny asks Ron incredulously. When he merely shrugs, she says, "Well, Mum's going to put a stop to it if she can, I'll bet you anything."

"How's she going to manage that?" Harry says.

"She keeps trying to get Tonks round for dinner. I think she's hoping Bill will fall for Tonks instead. I hope he does, I'd much rather have her in the family."

"Yeah, that'll work," Ron says sarcastically. "Listen, no bloke in his right mind is going to fancy Tonks when Fleur's around. I mean, Tonks is okay-looking when she's not doing stupid things to her hair or her nose, but - "

"She's a damn sight nicer than Phlegm," Ginny says.

"And she's more intelligent, she's an Auror!" Hermione adds from the corner.

Fleur's not stupid, she was good enough to get into the Triwizard Tournament," Harry points out.

"Not you as well!" Hemione says bitterly.

"I suppose you like the way Phlegm says ''Arry', do you?" Ginny says scornfully.

"No," Harry says, looking though he wishes he didn't speak. "I was just saying, Phlegm - I mean, Fleur - "

"I'd still much rather have Tonks," Ginny says. "At least she's a laugh."

"She hasn't been a laugh lately," Ron says. "Every time I've seen her she's been looking more and more like Moaning Myrtle."

I frown slightly at this. Tonks has always been vibrant and bubbly and funny, and with her bubblegum-pink hair, the last person I'd compare her to is Moaning Myrtle. I decide that if Ron's right, it must be about the loss of Sirius, who had been her cousin.

"That's not fair," Hermione snaps. "She still hasn't got over what happened... you know... I mean, he was her cousin!"

Harry suddenly starts shovelling scrambled eggs into his mouth, and I get the distinct impression it's so that he doesn't have to participate in the conversation that has now turned to Sirius.

"Tonks and Sirius barely knew each other!" Ron argues. "Sirius was in Azkaban half her life and their families never met before that - "

"That's not the point," Hermione insists. "She thinks it was her fault that Sirius died!"

"How does she work that one out?" Harry says.

"Well, she was fighting Bellatrix Lestrange, wasn't she? I think she feels if only she had finished her off, Bellatrix couldn't have killed Sirius."

"That's stupid," Ron says.

"It's survivor's guilt," Hermione says. "I know Lupin tried to talk her round, but she's still really down. She's actually having trouble with her Metamorphosing!"

"With her - ?" Harry begins.

"She can't change her appearance like she used to," Hermione explains. "I think her powers must have been affected by shock, or something."

"I didn't know that could happen," I say, frowning slightly.

"Neither did I," Hermione says, "but I suppose if you're really depressed..."

The door opens once more and Mrs. Weasley pops her head inside.

"Ginny," she whispers, "come downstairs and help me with lunch."

"I'm talking to this lot!" Ginny says, outraged.

"Now!" Mrs. Weasley says, and withdraws from the room.

"She only wants me to help so she doesn't have to be alone with Phlegm!" Ginny declares crossly.

She swings her long red hair around in a very good imitation of Fleur and prances around the room with her arms held aloft like a ballerina.

"You lot had better come down quickly, too," she says as she leaves.

There's a silence afterwards, in which Harry eats more of his breakfast, Ron helps himself to some of Harry's toast while gazing dreamily at the door, and Hermione peers into the boxes in Fred and George's room.

"What's this?" Hermione says, holding up a small telescope.

"Whatever it is, be careful," I advise. "Most of the stuff in here are in here because they're not ready for the joke shop, so..."

"Your mum says the shop's going well," Harry says. "Said Fred and George have got a real flair for business."

"That's an understatement," Ron says. "They're raking in the Galleons! I can't wait to see the place, we haven't been to Diagon Alley yet, because Mum and Dad's got to be there for extra security and he's been really busy at work, but it sounds excellent."

"And what about Percy?" Harry asks; Percy had fallen out with the rest of the family. "Is he talking to your mum and dad again?"

"Nope."

"But he knows your dad was right about Voldemort being back - ?" I begin, confused.

"Dumbledore says people find it far easier to forgive people for being wrong than for being right," Hermione says. "I heard him telling your mum, Ron."

"Sounds like the sort of mental thing Dumbledore would say," Ron says, nodding.

"He's going to give me private lessons this year," Harry says conversationally.

Ron chokes on a bit of toast, Hermione gasps, and I look round at him in shock.

"You kept that quiet!" Ron says.

"I've only just remembered," Harry says. "He told me last night in your broomshed."

"Blimey... private lessons with Dumbledore!" Ron says, looking impressed. "I wonder why he's...?"

His voice falls away. Ron, Hermione, and I exchange looks, knowing we're all thinking the same thing; did it have something to do with what happened in the Department of Mysteries?

"I don't know exactly why he's giving me lessons, but I think it must be because of the prophecy," Harry says, looking at his fork. When Ron, Hermione, and I don't do anything but stare at him, as though frozen, he says, "You know, the one they were trying to steal at the Ministry."

"Nobody knows what it says, though," Hermione says quickly. "It got smashed."

"Although the  _Prophet_ says - " Ron begins, but Hermione shushes him quickly.

"The  _Prophet's_ got it right," Harry says, looking up at us. "That glass ball that got smashed wasn't the only record of the prophecy. I heard it all in Dumbledore's office, he was the one the prophecy was made to, so he could tell me. From what it said," Harry takes a deep breath, "it looks like I'm the one who's got to finish off Voldemort. At least, it says neither can live while the other one survives."

The four of us gaze at each other in silence for a moment. Then there's a loud bang and Hermione vanishes behind a puff of smoke.

"Hermione!" Harry, Ron, and I shout, and the breakfast tray slides to the floor with a crash.

Hermione emerges, coughing, out of the smoke, clutching the telescope and sporting a brilliantly purple black eye.

"I squeezed it and it - it punched me!" she gasps.

And sure enough, we can not see a tiny fist on a long spring protruding from the end of the telescope.

"Don't worry," says Ron, who's plainly trying not to laugh. "Mum'll fix that, she's good at healing minor injuries - "

"Oh, well, never mind that now!" Hermione says. "Harry, oh, Harry..."

She sits down on the edge of Harry's bed again.

"We wondered, after we got back from the Ministry... obviously, we didn't want to say anything to you, but from what Lucius Malfoy said about the prophecy, how it was about you and Voldemort, well, we thought it might be something like this... oh, Harry..." Hermione stares at him, then whispers, "Are you scared?"

"Not as much as I was," Harry answers. "When I first heard it, I was... but now, it seems as though I always knew I'd have to face him in the end..."

"When we heard Dumbledore was collecting you in person, we thought he might be telling you or showing you something to do with the prophecy," Ron says eagerly. "And we were kind of right, weren't we? He wouldn't be giving you lessons if he thought you were a goner, wouldn't waste his time - he must think you've got a chance!"

"That's true," I say, nodding slightly and hoping I'm hiding my shock from what he's told us well. "I wonder what he'll teach you, though, Harry... it'll have to be really advanced defensive magic."

"Yeah, it'll be powerful countercurses... anti-jinxes... and evasive enchantments generally," Hermione says. "Well, at least you know one lesson you'll be having this year, that's one more than Ron, Hazel, and I. I wonder when our OWL results will come?"

"Can't be long now, it's been a month," Ron points out.

"Hang on," Harry says suddenly. "I think Dumbledore said OWL results would be arriving today!"

"Today?" Hermione shrieks. "Today? But why didn't you - oh, my God - you should have said - "

She leaps to her feet.

"I'm going to see if any owls have come..."

"Now you've set her off," Ron says, grinning, getting to his feet and following Hermione out the door.

"Come on, we'd better get going," I advise.

I'm only halfway across the room, however, when Harry calls me back.

"Hazel?"

"Yeah?" I say, turning around to face him.

"I - erm - I wanted to apologise for - for how we were in the summer," he says, alternating between looking at me and looking at his bedcovers. "I shouldn't have shut you out."

I look at him in surprise for a moment, before smiling and shrugging at him.

"It's fine," I say. "Just as long as you're not trapped anymore."

"I don't think I am," he states, and I smile wider.

"Good," I say. "I'll see you downstairs - you know, before Hermione has a fit."

When I arrive downstairs, I find that Hermione is sitting at the kitchen table in great agitation, while Mrs. Weasley tries to lessen her resemblance to half a panda.

"It just won't budge," Mrs. Weasley says anxiously, standing over Hermione with her wand in her hand and a copy of  _The Healer's Helpmate_ open at 'Bruises, Cuts, and Abrasions,' as Harry arrives ten minutes later, changed and carrying the empty breakfast tray. "This has always worked before, I just can't understand it."

"It'll be Fred and George's idea of a funny joke, making sure it can't come off," Ginny says.

"But it's got to come off!" Hermione squeaks. "I can't go around looking like this forever!"

"You won't, dear, we'll find an antidote, don't worry," Mrs. Weasley says reassuringly.

"Bill told me Fred and George are very amusing," Fleur says, smiling serenely.

"Yes, I can hardly breathe from laughing," Hermione snaps.

She jumps up and starts walking around the kitchen, twisting her fingers together.

"Mrs. Weasley, you're quite, quite sure no owls have arrived this morning?"

"Yes, dear, I'd have noticed," Mrs. Weasley says patiently. "But it's barely eleven, there's still plenty of time..."

"You know I messed up Ancient Runes," Hermione mutters feverishly. "I definitely made at least one serious mistranslation. And the Defence Against the Dark Arts practical was no good at all. I thought Transfiguration went alright at the time, but now looking back - "

"Hermione, will you shut up, you're not the only one who's nervous!" Ron barks. "And when you've got your eleven 'Outstanding' OWLs..."

"Don't, don't, don't!" Hermione says, flapping her hands hysterically. "I know I've failed everything!"

"What happens if we fail?" Harry asks the room at large, but it's Hermione who answers.

"We discuss our options with our Head of House, I asked Professor McGonagall at the end of last term."

My stomach squirms. Hermione's nervousness is doing nothing but making me feel more nervous, and now as I think about my examinations, I have to wonder if I did as well as I had originally thought. I know I've definitely failed History of Magic, considering the amount of questions to which I guessed the answers and the amount of answers I made up; I probably didn't do that well in Astronomy, due to how hard it was to concentrate during it when Hagrid had been attacked by Umbridge and her colleagues and they had sent four Stunners to McGonagall; I did terribly in Divination, but that's nothing new; and Potions... I had tried so hard to get an 'O', but could I have really managed it?

"At Beauxbatons," Fleur says complacently, snapping me out of my thoughts momentarily, "we 'ad a different way of doing things. I think eet was better. We sat our examinations after six years of study, not five, and then - "

Fleur's words are drowned out by a scream. Hermione is pointing out the window. Four black specks are clearly visible in the sky, growing larger and larger.

"They're definitely owls," Ron says hoarsely, jumping to join Hermione at the window.

"Oh, no..." I moan, as Harry and I join them, "there's one for each of us... oh, no... oh, no..."

The owls are flying directly towards the burrow, four tawnies, each of which, it becomes clear as they fly lower over the path leading up to the house, carry a large square envelope.

"Oh, no!" Hermione squeals.

Mrs. Weasley squeezes past us and opens the kitchen window. One, two, three, four owls soar through it and land on the table in a neat line, lifting their right legs.

I move forwards to my owl, untying the letter with fumbling fingers and a wildly pounding heart; to my right, Hermione's hands are shaking so hard she's making her owl tremble; to my left, Harry and Ron are untying their letters with fumbling fingers and an anxious expression on their faces.

Nobody in the kitchen speaks. At last, I manage to detach my letter. I stare at it anxiously for a long time, before taking a deep breath, slitting it open, and unfolding the parchment, angling it do that nobody can see but me.

_Ordinary Wizarding Level Results_

_Pass Grades_

_Outstanding (O)_

_Exceeds Expectations (E)_

_Acceptable (A)_

 

_Fail grades_

_Poor (P)_

_Dreadful (D)_

_Troll (T)_

 

_Hazel Jasmine Knight has achieved:_

_Ancient Runes O_

_Astronomy E_

_Care of Magical Creatures O_

_Charms O_

_Defence Against the Dark Arts O_

_Divination P_

_Herbology O_

_History of Magic P_

_Potions O_

_Transfiguration O_

 

I read through the parchment several times, and each time I finish reading through it, I feel as though a particularly large weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I have done okay; in fact, I've done really well! I mean, an 'E' in Astronomy is more than I can ask for, considering how hard it was fr me to concentrate at the time of the exam; I always knew I was going to fail Divination, really, and a 'P' is actually much better than expected in both Divination and History of Magic. And besides those three subjects, I had not only passed, but I had achieved an 'Outstanding', even in Potions!

"Only failed Divination and History of Magic, and who cares about them?" Ron says happily.

I look up to see Harry and Ron swapping their results, but Hermione is looking at hers with her back turned and her head bent. I look back down at my results once more, to make sure that I hadn't read it all wrong and discover that I actually failed everything, as Mrs. Weasley congratulates Ron on getting seven OWL's.

"What'd you get?" Ron asks, nodding at me.

"I got an 'O' in most things, except for an 'E' in Astronomy - which is much better than I could've asked for, considering I could hardly focus with everything going on - and a 'P' in History of Magic and Divination - which isn't much of a surprise," I reply. "And, look, I even got an 'O' in Potions! Oh, I can't wait to see the look on Snape's face when I show up in his class again, he thought I wasn't good at Potions! Of course," I add as an afterthought, "I don't much fancy being in his class again, but it'll still be satisfying. How about you?"

"Alright," Ron says shrugging, and he and Harry hand me their results, where I see that they've done quite well themselves.

"Hermione?" Ginny says tentatively, for Hermione still hadn't turned around. "How did you do?"

"I - not bad," Hermione says in a small voice.

"Oh, come off it," Ron scoffs, striding towards her and whipping her results out of her hand. "Yep - ten 'Outstandings' and one 'Exceeds Expectations' in Defence Against the Dark Arts," he looks down at her, half amused, half exasperated. "You're actually disappointed, aren't you?"

Hermione shakes her head, and Harry and I laugh.

"Well, we're NEWT students now!" Ron grins. "Mum, are there any more sausages?"

I sink down into a chair at the kitchen table, examining my grades once more, feeling quite pleased with myself - and after months of stress, I think I do deserve to be a bit pleased.

 _Now_ , I think to myself, both anxiously and excitedly,  _all you have to do is survive the next two years._


	5. Borgin and Burkes

**Distance Means Nothing**

**Chapter Five: Borgin and Burkes**

 

Most days at the Burrow are spent playing Quidditch in the Weasley's orchard (it's usually Ron and I versus Harry and Ginny, but occasionally we do change it up) and the evenings spent eating everything Mrs. Weasley puts in front of me and staying up late into the night talking with Hermione and Ginny.

It would have been a happy, peaceful holiday had it not been for the news of disappearances, odd accidents, even deaths appearing almost daily in the  _Daily Prophet_ lately. Sometimes Bill and Mr. Weasley bring the news home even before it's in the paper. To Mrs. Weasley's displeasure, Harry's sixteenth birthday celebrations are marred by grisly news brought by Remus, who's looking gaunt and grim, his brown hair streaked with grey, his clothes more ragged and patched than ever.

"There have been another couple of Dementor attacks," he announces, as Mrs. Weasley passes him a large slide of birthday cake. "And they've found Igor Karkaroff's body in a shack up north. The Dark Mark had been set over it - well, frankly, I'm surprised he stayed alive for even a year after deserting the Death Eaters; Sirius' brother, Regulus, only managed a few days as far as I can remember."

"Yes, well," Mrs. Weasley says, frowning, "perhaps we should talk about something diff - "

"Did you hear about Florean Fortescue, Remus?" Bill asks. "The man who ran - "

" - the ice cream place in Diagon Alley?" Harry says. "He used to give me free ice creams. What happened to him?"

"Dragged off, by the look of the place."

"Why?" asks Ron, while Mrs. Weasley glares pointedly at Bill.

"Who knows? He must've upset them somehow. He was a good man, Florean."

"Talking of Diagon Alley," Mr. Weasley says, "looks like Ollivander's gone, too."

"The wandmaker?" I say, horrified.

"That's the one. Shop's empty. No sign of a struggle. No one knows if he left voluntarily or if he was kidnapped."

"But wands - what'll people do for wands?" Ginny asks.

"They'll make so with other makers," Remus replies. "But Ollivander was the best, and if the other side has got him it's not so good for us."

The day after this rather gloomy birthday tea, our letters and booklists arrive from Hogwarts. Harry's includes a surprise: he's been made Quidditch captain.

"Congratulations!" I say happily, beaming at him.

"This gives you equal status with the prefects!" Hermione cries. "You can use our special bathroom now and everything!"

"Wow, I remember when Charlie wore one of these," Ron says, examining the badge with glee. "Harry, this is so cool, you're our captain - if you let us back on the team, I suppose, ha ha..."

"Well, I don't suppose we can put off a trip to Diagon Alley much longer now that you've got these," Mrs. Weasley says, examining Ron's booklist. "We'll go on Saturday as long as your father doesn't have to work again. I'm not going without him."

"Mum, d'you honestly think You-Know-Who's going to be hiding behind a shelf in Flourish and Blotts?" Ron says, snickering.

"Fortescue and Ollivander went on holiday, did they?" Mrs. Weasley says, firing up at once. "If you think security's a laughing matter you can stay behind and I'll get your things myself - "

"No, I want to come, I want to see Fred and George's shop!" Ron says hastily.

"Then you just buck up your ideas, young man, before I decide you're too immature to come with us!" Mrs. Weasley says angrily, snatching up her clock, all nine hands of which are pointing at 'mortal peril' and balancing it on top of a pile of freshly laundered towels. "And that goes for returning to Hogwarts as well!"

Ron stares incredulously at Harry, Hermione, and I as his mother hoists the laundry basket and the teetering clock into her arms and storms out of the room.

"Blimey... you can't even make a joke around here anymore..."

But Ron's careful not to make any more flippant remarks about Voldemort over the next few days. Saturday dawns without anymore outbursts from Mrs. Weasley, though she looks very tense at breakfast. Bill, who's going to be staying at home with Fleur (much to Hermione and Ginny's pleasure), passes Harry and I each a full money bag across the table.

"Where's mine?" Ron demands, eyes wide.

"That's already theirs, idiot," Bill replies. "I got it out of your vault for you, Harry, Hazel, because it's taking about five hours for the public to get their gold at the moment, the goblins have tightened security so much. Two days ago Arkie Philpott had a Probity Probe stuck up his... well, trust me, this way's easier."

"Thanks, Bill," I say gratefully, Harry and I pocketing our gold.

"'E is always so thoughtful," Fleur purrs adoringly, stroking Bill's nose. Ginny pretends to vomit into her cereal behind Fleur, causing Harry to choke on his own cereal and Ron to thump him on the back.

It's an overcast, murky day. One of the special Ministry cars is awaiting us on the front yard when we emerge from the house, pulling on our cloaks.

"It's good that Dad can get us these again," Ron says appreciatively, stretching luxuriously as the car moves smoothly away from the Burrow, Bill and Fleur waving from the kitchen window; he, Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and I are all seated comfortably in the backseat.

"Don't get used to it, it's only because of Harry," Mr. Weasley says over his shoulder; he and Mrs. Weasley are up front with the Ministry driver, the front passenger seat had stretched into what resembled a two-seated sofa. "He's been given top-grade security status. And we'll be joining up with additional security in the Leaky Cauldron."

I glance over at Harry at this; by the looks of it, he doesn't really like the idea of doing his school shopping while surrounded by a bunch of Aurors, and quite frankly, I don't, either.

"Here you are, then," the driver says a surprisingly short while later, speaking for the first time as he slows in Charing Cross Road and stops outside the Leaky Cauldron. "I'm to wait for you, any idea how long you'll be?"

"A couple of hours, I expect," Mr. Weasley replies. "Ah, good, he's here!"

I peer through the window, and my heart leaps; there are no Aurors waiting outside the inn, but instead Rubeus Hagrid, gigantic and black-bearded, wearing a long beaverskin overcoat, grinning broadly and not seeming to notice the startled stares of passing Muggles.

"Harry!" he booms, sweeping Harry into a bone-crushing hug. "Buckbeak - I mean, Witherwings - yeh should see him, Harry, he's so happy ter be back in open air - "

"Glad he's pleased," Harry says, grinning and massaging his ribs. "We didn't know 'security' meant you!"

"I know, just like old times, innit? See, the Ministry wanted ter send a bunch o' Aurors, but Dumbledore said I'd do," Hagrid says proudly. "Let's get goin', then - after yeh, Molly, Arthur - "

For the first time that I can remember, the Leaky Cauldron is completely empty, except for Tom the landlord, wizened and toothless. He looks up hopefully as we enter, but Hagrid crushes his hopes of getting a customer.

"Just passin' through today, Tom, sure yeh understand, Hogwarts business, yeh know," he says importantly.

Tom nods gloomily and returns to wiping glasses; Harry, Hermione, Hagrid, the Weasleys, and I walk through the bar and out onto the chilly little courtyard at the back where the dustbins stand. Hagrid raises his pink umbrella and taps a certain brick on the wall, which opens at once to form an archway onto a winding cobbled street. We step through the entrance and pause, looking around.

Diagon Alley, to put it simply, has changed. The colourful, glittering window displays of spellbooks, potion ingredients, and cauldrons can no longer be seen, hidden by the large Ministry of Magic posters that's been put up over them. Most of these sombre purple posters carry blown-up versions of advice from the Ministry pamphlets that had been sent out over the summer, but others have moving black-and-white photographs of Death Eaters known to be on the loose. Bellatrix Lestrange is sneering from the nearest apothecary. A few windows are boarded up, including those of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. On the other hand, a number of shabby-looking stalls have been sprung up along the street. The nearest one, which has been erected outside Flourish and Blotts, under a striped and stained awning, has a cardboard sign pinned to its front:

 

_AMULETS_

_Effective Against Werewolves, Dementors, and Inferi!_

 

 

A seedy-looking wizard is rattling armfuls of silver symbols on chains at people who pass him.

"One for your little girl, madam?" he calls at Mrs. Weasley as we pass, leering at Ginny. "Protect her pretty little neck?"

"If I were on duty..." Mr. Weasley mutters, glaring at the amulet seller.

"Yes, but don't go arresting anyone now, Arthur, we're in a hurry," Mrs. Weasley says, nervously consulting a list. "I think we'd better do Madam Malkin's first, Hermione and Hazel want new dress robes, and Ron's showing too much ankle in his school robes, and you must need new ones, Harry, you've grown so much - come on, everyone - "

"Molly, it doesn't mane much sense for all of us to go to Madam Malkin's," Mr. Weasley says. "Why don't those four go with Hagrid, and we can go to Flourish and Blotts and get everyone's books?"

"I don't know," Mrs. Weasley says anxiously, clearly torn between wanting to stick together and wanting to get shopping done quickly. "Hagrid, do you think - ?"

"Don' fret, they'll be fine with me, Molly," Hagrid assures her, waving an airy hand the size of a dustbin lid. Mrs. Weasley does not look reassured, but allows the separation, scurrying off towards Flourish and Blotts with her husband and Ginny, while Harry, Ron, Hermione, Hagrid, and I set off for Madam Malkin's.

I notice that many shoppers have the same anxious expression as Mrs. Weasley, and nobody is stopping to talk like they used to anymore. Shoppers stay together in their own tightly knit groups, going intently about their business. I notice that nobody seems to be shopping alone.

"Migh' be a bit of a squeeze in there with all of us," Hagrid says, stopping outside Madam Malkin's and bending to peer through the window. "I'll stand guard outside, alright?"

So Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I enter the shop together. At first glance, it appears to be empty, but no sooner has the door swung shut behind us that we hear a familiar voice issuing from behind a rack of dress robes in spangled green in blue.

"... not a child, in case you haven't noticed, Mother. I am perfectly capable of doing my shopping alone."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," I whisper in frustration; sometimes there really is no escaping the people who hate.

There's a clucking noise and a voice I recognise as Madam Malkin's, the owner, says, "Now, dear, your mother's quite right, none of us are supposed to go wandering around on our own anymore, it's nothing to do with being a child - "

"Watch where you're sticking that pin, will you!"

A teenage boy with a pale, pointed face and white-blond hair appears from behind the rack, wearing a set of dark green robes that glitters with pins around the hem and the edges of the sleeves. He strides to the mirror and examines himself; it's a few moments before he notices Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I reflected over his shoulder. His light grey eyes narrow.

"If you're wondering what the smell is, Mother, a Mudblood just walked in," Draco Malfoy says.

"I don't think there's any need for language like that!" Madam Malkin says, scurrying out from behind the clothes rack with tape measure and her wand. "And I don't want wands drawn in my shop, either!" she adds hastily, as a glace at the door has shown her that Harry, Ron, and I are standing there with our wands pointed at Malfoys.

Hermione, who's standing slightly behind us, whispers, "No, don't, honestly, it's not worth it."

"Yeah, like you'd dare do magic outside of school," Malfoy sneers. "Who gave you a black eye, Granger? I want to send them flowers."

"That's quite enough!" Madam Malkin says sharply, looking over her shoulder for support. "Madam - please - "

Nacissa Malfoy strolls out from behind the clothes rack.

"Put those away," she says coldly to Harry, Ron, and I. "And if you attack my son again, I shall ensure it's the last thing you ever do."

"Really?" Harry says, taking a step forward into the smoothly arrogant face of Narcissa Malfoy, who very much resembles her sister. "Going to get a few Death Eater pals to do us in, are you?"

Madam Malkin squeals and clutches her heart.

"Really, you shouldn't accuse - dangerous thing to say - wands away, please - "

But we don't lower our wands. Narcissa Malfoy smiles unpleasantly.

"I see that being Dumbledore's favourite has given you a false sense of security, Harry Potter. But Dumbledore won't always be there to protect you."

Harry looks mockingly around the shop.

"Wow... look at that... he's not here now! So why not have a go? They might be able to find you a double cell in Azkaban with your loser of a husband!"

Malfoy makes an angry movement towards Harry, but then trips over his overlong robe, causing Ron and I to laugh.

"Don't you dare talk to my mother like that, Potter!" Malfoy snarls.

"It's alright, Draco," Narcissa says, putting a hand on his shoulder to restrain him. "I expect Potter will be reunited with dear Sirius before I am reunited with Lucius."

Harry raises his wand higher.

"Harry, no!" Hermione moans, grabbing his arm and attempting to push it down by his side. "Think... you must'nt... you'll be in such trouble..."

Madam Malkin dithers for a moment on the spot, then seems to decide that maybe if she acts like nothing is happening then it won't. She bends towards Malfoy, who's still glaring at Harry.

"I think this left sleeve should come up a little more, dear, let me just - "

"Ouch!" Malfoy bellows, slapping her hand away. "Watch where you're putting those pins, woman! Mother - I don't think I want these anymore - "

He pulls his robes over his head and throws them at Madam Malkin's feet.

"You're right, Draco," Narcissa says, with a contemptuous glance at Hermione, "now I know about the kind of scum that shops here... we'll do better at Twilfitt and Tatting's."

And with that, the pair of them stride out of the shop, Malfoy making sure to bang into Ron's shoulder on the way out the door.

"Well, really?" Madam Malkin says, snatching the robes off the floor and moving the tip of her wand over them like a vacuum cleaner, removing all the dust.

She's distracted all through the fitting of Harry and Ron's robes, tries to sell Hermione and I wizard's dress robes instead of witch's, and when she finally bows us out of the shop, it's with the air of someone who's very glad to see the back of us.

"Got ev'rything?" Hagrid asks brightly, when we reappear at his side.

"Just about," Harry replies. "Did you see the Malfoys?"

"Yeah," Hagrid replies, unconcerned. "But they wouldn' dare make trouble in the middle of Diagon Alley, Harry. Don' worry abou' them."

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I exchange looks, but before we can disabuse Hagrid of this notion, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Ginny appear, all clutching heavy packages of books.

"Everyone alright?" Mrs. Weasley says. "Got your robes? Right, then we can pop in at the Apothecary and Eeylops on the way to Fred and George's - stick close, now..."

At the Apothecary, I buy all the Potions ingredients I need, once again thinking excitedly about the look on Snape's face when I show up in his class, proving that I was good enough to get an 'O', and I also buy a large box of owl nuts for Midnight at Eeylops Owl Emporium. Then, with Mrs. Weasley checking her watch every minute or so, we head farther along the street in search of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, with me fidgeting slightly and trying to mask my excitement.

"We really haven't got too long," Mrs. Weasley says. "So, we'll just have a quick look around and then back to the car. We must be close, that's number ninety-two... ninety-four.."

"Whoa," Ron says, stopping dead in his tracks.

Set against the dull, poster-muffled shop fronts around them, Fred and George's windows hit the eyes like a fireworks display. Casual passersby are looking over the shoulders at the windows, and a few stunned people actually come to a halt, transfixed. The left-hand window is a dazzlingly full assortment of goods that revolved, popped, flashed, bounced, and shrieked; the right-hand window is covered with a gigantic poster, purple like those of the Ministry, but emblazoned with flashing yellow letters:

 

_WHY ARE YOU WORRYING ABOUT_

_YOU-KNOW-WHO?_

_YOU SHOULD BE WORRYING ABOUT_

_U-NO-POO_

_THE CONSTIPATION SENSATION_

_THAT'S GRIPPING THE NATION_

 

Beside me, I hear a weak sort of moan, and look around to see Mrs. Weasley gazing, dumbfounded, at the poster. Her lips moving silently, mouthing the words 'U-No-Poo.'

"They'll be murdered in their beds!" she whispers.

I look back at the sign, shaking my head, a smile crossing my face in spite of myself.

"They're so stupid," I whisper, awestruck but also rather impressed by their nerve.

"No, they aren't!" says Ron, who's laughing along with Harry. "This is brilliant!"

And he and Harry lead the way inside the shop. It's packed with customers; I can hardly get to any of the shelves. I stare around, looking at the boxes piled up to the ceiling: here are the Skiving Snackboxes that Fred and George had perfected in their last, unfinished year at Hogwarts; I note that the Nosebleed Nougat is the most popular, with only one last, battered box left on the shelf. There are bins full of trick wands, the cheapest merely turning into rubber chickens or pairs of briefs when waved, the most expensive beating the unwary user around the head or neck. There are boxes of quills, which comes in the Self-Inking, Spell-Checking, and Smart-Answer varieties.

A space clears in the crowd, and I hurry forward to one of the shelves, looking around at all the products and grinning broadly. Looking around at it all, I couldn't help but feel rather proud. I had always known that their shop would be a success, but seeing it in person is another thing entirely.

"Brilliant," I whisper to myself. "Absolutely brilliant."

It's when I'm holding a Screaming Yo-Yo and a Fanged Frisbee and deciding which one to get (or if I should just get both), when someone behind me grabs me, causing me to let out a gasp and drop both items. I whip around, my hand already halfway to my wand, both irritated and slightly frightened, when I see who it is and my face immediately breaks out into a grin; standing there in magenta robes that clash magnificently with his flaming hair is - 

"Fred!" I cry, jump up, and hug him so fiercely that he stumbles backwards a few steps, before he manages to regain his balance.

He lets out a laugh and spins me around, before letting me back down.

"Miss me, have you, Knight?" he says, grinning broadly.

"No," I reply, beaming up at him, "where the hell did you get that idea?"

I go up on tiptoe and kiss him quickly, until he pulls me back to kiss him longer. Normally, I'd pull away, but I haven't seen him in so long, that I don't do anything but kiss him back and wrap my arms around his neck.

"So," he says when we pull away, "you don't even miss me a little bit?"

"Maybe a little bit," I reply teasingly, smiling at him. "But not much more than that."

"Oh, yeah?" he says, grinning as my heels touch the ground again. "Well, I'll have you know I didn't miss you at all."

"Oh, please," I laugh, rolling my eyes, "I bet you spent most of your time missing me."

"Just like how you did the same for me," he replies. "Now, come on, I'm going to give you a tour."

He grabs onto my wrist and drags me away, and I follow behind him obligingly. He leads me towards the back of the shop, where I see a stand of card and rope tricks.

"Muggle magic tricks!" he says happily, pointing them out. "For freaks like Dad, you know, who love Muggle stuff. It's not a big earner, but we do fairly steady business, they're great novelties. And, come one, come through the back, that's where we're making real money..."

Fred pushes back a curtain beside the Muggle tricks and I see a darker, less crowded room. The packages on the products lining these shelves are more subdued, I notice.

"It's funny how it happened, but we developed a more serious line," Fred states. "You'd be surprised how many people, even Ministry workers, can't do a decent Shield Charm to save their lives... well, we thought Shield Hats would be a bit of a laugh, you know, tell your mat to jinx you while wearing it and then watch their face when it just bounces off. But the Ministry ended up buying five hundred for all its support staff! And we're still getting massive orders! So we've expanded to a range of Shield Gloves, Shield Cloaks... I mean, they won't help much with the Unforgiveable Curses, but for minor to moderate stuff...

"And then we decided we'd get into the whole area of Defence Against the Dark Arts, because it's such a money spinner," Fred continues enthusiastically. "This is cool - Instant Darkness Powder, we're importing it from Peru. Handy if you want a quick escape. And then there's the Decoy Detonators," he says, pointing at a number of weird-looking black horn-type objects that are attempting to scurry out of sight, "you just drop one surreptitiously and it'll run off and make a nice loud noise out of sight, giving you a diversion if you need it."

"Impressive," I comment, nodding, and he grins.

"Now you'll admit it, huh?" he says, raising his eyebrows.

"I'll give credit where it's due," I reply matter-of-factly. "But it's just so rarely due with you..."

"You're cruel," he says, clutching his chest and pretending to be offended.

"And you love it," I retort matter-of-factly.

"That's true," he agrees, moving closer to me. "Maybe even more true than you know."

"What do you mean?" I ask, looking at him in slight confusion.

"I mean," he says, lowering his voice and stepping even closer to me, so that it's getting harder and harder to think, "that I might have been lying when I said I didn't think about you much."

"Oh, really?" I say, raising my eyebrows slightly.

"Really," he says firmly, closes the space between us, and kisses me again.

Smiling slightly against his lips, my hands going up to his hair, tugging on it and playing with it with my fingers, trying to make the most out of the moments we have now, because once I've left I won't be able to see him and do this for a very long time.

 _Too long,_ I think, then pull him impossibly closer to me, as though this could shorten the time we're going to have to be apart.

"And you know what else?" he says breathlessly, when we pull away momentarily.

"Wha-what?" I ask, before pulling him to me and kissing him again.

He pulls away from me, causing me to let out a small noise of protest that makes him grin.

"Eager, are we?"

"Bloody git," I mutter, looking away from him momentarily.

He lets out a laugh, and I have to crack a smile myself, even if it's slightly reluctant. After a moment, however, his hand goes to the necklace he had given me for my birthday, and begins playing with the charm he had given me most recently. I look down and watch his fingers play with the charm for a moment, before looking back up at him, almost transfixed.

"And you know what else?" he repeats, looking directly into my eyes.

"What?" I say softly.

Before he can say anything else, however, a voice calls, "Oh, for Merlin's sake, it really doesn't take you two very long, does it?"

We all but fly away from each other, so that my back finds itself against the shelves. Cursing under my breath, I turn around and find George walking towards us, wearing the same magenta robes as his twin.

"You couldn't have waited two seconds, could you?" Fred demands.

"No, it's funnier this way," George replies, giving his twin a cheeky smile. Then he turns to me and says, "Hazel Knight."

"George Weasley," I say, mocking his voice, before walking forward and hugging him. "How are you?"

"Alright," he replies, "at least, I saw, until I saw you swapping spit with my brother."

"Well, you wouldn't have had to if you waited two seconds like he said," I point out.

"My point exactly," Fred says matter-of-factly.

George simply shrugs, not looking very concerned.

"Oh, well, it was worth seeing the looks on your faces," he states. "It's funny seeing you blush."

"You are the biggest prat I've ever met," I say, shaking my head and crossing my arms.

"Maybe, but I do keep things enjoyable," he retorts, shrugging. "Anyway, have you gotten a tour of the place, or have you two just been too busy snogging?"

"We didn't  _just_ snog," I protest. "It was a bit of a mixture between the two."

George rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to speak, but then a voice behind him says, "There's a customer out here looking for joke cauldrons, Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley."

I find that the source of the voice is a young witch with short blonde hair, who is also wearing magenta robes. It's very odd to hear Fred and George be referred to as 'Mr. Weasley,' so weird that I have to put a hand to my mouth to stop my laughter from escaping, but Fred and George seem to take it in stride.

"Right you are, Verity, I'm coming," George says promptly.

George sweeps off through the curtain to help the customers, and I allow myself to burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?" Fred asks, giving me an odd look.

"Do I have to call you Mr. Weasley, too?" I ask sarcastically between laughs.

"Well, I certainly wouldn't be against it," he replies, grinning, and I let out another laugh.

"Dear God, in your dreams," I say, shaking my head. Once I calm down, I look back at him and ask, "So, what was it you were going to say?"

He looks at me for a while, before saying, "Erm, forget it. It was nothing."

I frown at this, my brow furrowing.

"But - " I begin.

"Come on," he says, grabbing onto my wrist again, "we'd better find the others, before they wonder where you disappeared."

He leads me back into the main part of the shop, leaving me to stare at him curiously, my head tilted slightly and watching him closely, wishing that I was a Legilimens so I could know what he's thinking.

We push our way towards the counter, where a gaggle of delighted ten year-olds are watching a tiny wooden man slowly ascending the steps to a real set of gallows, both perched on a box that says:  _Reusable Hangman - Spell it or He'll Swing!_

We find Harry, Hermione, and Ginny looking at the Patented Daydream Charms. As we draw level with them, I read the information on the back of the box over Hermione's shoulder:  _One simple incantation and you will enter a top-quality, highly realistic, thirty-minute daydream, easy to fit into the average school lesson and virtually undetectable (side effects include vacant expression and minor drooling). Not for sale to under-sixteens._

"Haven't you two found our special WonderWitch products yet?" Fred asks, nodding at Hermione and Ginny. "Follow me, ladies..."

Near the window is an array of violently pink products around which a cluster of girls are giggling enthusiastically. I raise my eyebrows slightly at it, Hermione and Ginny hanging back, looking wary.

"There you go," Fred says proudly. "Best range of love potions you'll find anywhere."

Ginny raises her eyebrows skeptically.

"Do they work?"

"Certainly they work, for up to twenty-four hours at a time depending on the weight of the boy in question - "

" - and the attractiveness of the girl," George finishes, reappearing at our side. "But we're not selling them to our sister," he continues, suddenly sounding stern, "not when she's got about five boys on the go from what we've - "

"Whatever you've heard from Ron is a big fat lie," Ginny says calmly, leaning forward to take a small pink pot off the shelf. "What's this?"

"Guaranteed Ten-Second Pimple Vanisher." Fred replies. "Excellent on everything from boils to blackheads, but don't change the subject. Are you or are you not currently going out with a boy called Dean Thomas?"

"Yes, I am," Ginny answers. "And last time I looked, he was definitely one boy, not five. What are those?"

She points at a number of round balls of fluff in shades of pink and purple, all rolling around at the bottom of a cage and emitting high-pitched squeaks.

"Pygmy Puffs," George replies. "Miniature Puffskeins, we can't breed them fast enough. So what about Michael Corner?"

"I dumped him, he was a bad loser," Ginny says, putting her finger through the bars of the cage and watching the Pygmy Puffs crowd around it. "They're really cute!"

"They're fairly cuddly, yes," Fred concedes. "But you're moving through boyfriends a bit fast, aren't you?"

Ginny turns to look at him, her hands on her hips, with such a Mrs. Weasley-ish glare that I'm slightly surprised Fred doesn't back down.

"It's none of your business. And I'll thank you," she adds angrily to Ron, who has just appeared at George's elbow, laden with merchandise, "not to tell tales about me to these two!"

"That's three Galleons, nine Sickles, and a Knut," Fred says, examining the merchandise in Ron's arms. "Cough up."

"I'm your brother!"

"And that's our stuff you're nicking. Three Galleons, nine Sickles. I'll knock off the Knut."

"But I haven't got three Galleons, nine Sickles!"

"You'd better put it back, then, and mind you put it on the right shelves."

Ron drops several boxes, swears, and sends Fred a rude hand gesture that is unfortunately spotted by Mrs. Weasley, who had chosen that precise moment to appear.

"If I see you do that again, I'll jinx your fingers together!" Mrs. Weasley says sharply.

"Mum, can I have a Pygmy Puff?" Ginny asks at once.

"A what?"

"Look, they're so sweet..."

Mrs. Weasley moves aside to examine the Pygmy Puffs, giving Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I a view of the window. Draco Malfoy is hurrying up the street alone. As he passes Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, he glances over his shoulder. Seconds later, he moves beyond the scopes of the window and we lose sight of him.

"Wonder where his mummy is?" Harry says, frowning.

"Given her the slip, by the looks of it," Ron says.

"Why, though?" Hermione says.

I say nothing, thinking the situation is over; there's no way Narcissa Malfoy would have let her son out of her sight willingly, so Malfoy must have had to make a real effort to get away from her. But what would motivate Malfoy to put so much effort to be alone? Knowing Malfoy, it's highly unlikely that it's something innocent.

"Get under here, quick," Harry suddenly says, pulling his Invisibility Cloak out of his bag.

I frown slightly, then glance around; Ginny and Mrs. Weasley are bending over the Pygmy Puffs; Mr. Weasley is delightedly examining a pack of Muggle playing cards; Fred and George are both helping customers; on the other side of the window, Hagrid is standing with his back to us, looking up and down the street. Then I look back at Fred and George, feeling a trace of reluctance to leave.

"Oh - I don't know," Hermione says, looking at Mrs. Weasley.

"Come on," Ron insists.

I exchange glances with her, look back around the shop once more, and say, "Oh, fine," and duck under the Cloak myself.

Hermione ducks under it as well, after a moment of hesitation. Nobody notices us vanish, everyone being too focused on Fred and George's products. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I squeeze out the door as quickly as we can, but by the time we've gained the street, Malfoy has disappeared just as successfully as we had.

"He was going in that direction," Harry says, speaking quietly so that the humming Hagrid won't hear us. "C'mon."

We scurry along, peering left and right, through shop windows and doors, until Hermione finally points ahead.

"That's him, isn't it?" she whispers. "Turning left?"

"Big surprise," Ron mutters, for Malfoy glances around once more, then slides down Knockturn Alley and out of sight.

"Quick, or we'll lose him," Harry says, picking up speed.

"Our feet'll be seen!" Hermione says anxiously, as the Cloak flaps a little around our ankles; it's been getting more and more difficult to hide all four of us nowadays.

"It doesn't matter," Harry says impatiently. "Just hurry!"

But Knockturn Alley, the side street dedicated to the Dark Arts, is completely deserted. We peer into windows as we pass, but none of the shops seems to have any customers at all. I suppose it's because in dangerous and suspicious times like this, it's a bit of a giveaway to buy Dark artefacts - or at least, be seen buying them.

"Ouch!" Harry says, for Hermione has pinched him hard on the arm.

"Shh! Look! He's in there!" she breathes.

We've drawn level with the shop called Borgin and Burkes, which Harry had been to several years previously and told us about the sinister objects it sold. There, amidst cases full of skulls and old bottles, stands Draco Malfoy with his back to us, just visible beyond a large black cabinet. Judging by the movement of his hands, Malfoy is talking animatedly. The owner of the shop, Mr. Borgin, an oily-haired, stooped man, stands facing Malfoy, wearing an odd expression of mingled resentment and fear.

"If only we could hear what they were saying!" Hermione says.

"We can!" Ron says excitedly. "Hang on - damn - "

He drops a couple more of the boxes he's still holding as he fumbles with the largest.

"Extendable Ears, look!"

"Fantastic!" I breathe, as Ron unravels the long, flesh-coloured strings and begins to feed them through the bottom of the door. "I just hope the door isn't Imperturbable - "

"No!" Ron says gleefully. "Listen!"

We put our heads together and listen intently to the ends of the strings, through which Malfoy's voice can be heard loud and clear, as though a radio had been turned on.

"... you know how to fix it?"

"Possibly," Borgin replies, with a tone that implies that he's unwilling to commit himself. "I'll need to see it, though. Why don't you bring it into the shop?"

"I can't," Malfoy says. "It's got to stay put. I just need you to tell me how to do it."

I see Borgin lick his lips nervously.

"Well, without seeing it, I must say it will be a very difficult job, perhaps impossible. I couldn't guarantee anything."

"No?" Malfoy says, and I can tell, just by his tone, that he's sneering. "Perhaps this will make you more confident."

He moves towards Borgin and is blocked from view by the cabinet. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I shuffle sideways to try and keep him in sight, but all we can see is Borgin looking very, very scared.

"Tell anyone," Malfoy says, "and there will be retribution. You know Fenrir Greyback? He's a family friend. He'll be dropping in from time to time to make sure you're giving the problem your full attention."

"There will be no need for - "

"I'll decide that," Malfoy says. "Well, I'd better be off. And don't forget to keep that one safe, I'll need it."

"Perhaps you'd like to take it now?"

"No, of course I wouldn't, you stupid, little man, how would I look carrying that down the street? Just don't sell it."

"Of course not... sir."

Borgin gives Malfoy a deep bow.

"Not a word to anyone, Borgin, and that includes my mother, understand?"

"Naturally, naturally," Borgin murmurs, bowing again.

Next moment, the bell over the door tinkles loudly as Malfoy exits the shop, looking extremely pleased with himself. He passes so close to us that we feel the cloak flutter around our knees again. Inside the shop, Borgin remains frozen, his smile now gone; he looks worried.

"What was that?" Ron whispers, reeling the Extendable Ears.

"Dunno," Harry says. "He wants something mended... and he wants to reserve something there... could you see that he pointed at when he said 'that one'?"

"No, he was behind that cabinet - "

"Well, time to do some poking around," I say matter-of-factly. "You three stay here."

"What are you - ?" Ron begins, but I've already ducked out from under the cloak.

I examine my reflection in the glass for a moment, fix my hair, put on a very cheerful smile, and then throw the door open to the shop, marching inside.

"Good morning," I greet cheerfully to Borgin, waving.

Borgin does not answer, but just casts me a suspicious look, as though thinking that anybody who can be so cheesy has to be rather fishy. Still smiling pleasantly, I start by walking towards the opposite end of the shop that Malfoy and Borgin had stood, deciding to take my time to win him over, examining all the items on display.

"How much for these?" I ask, gesturing towards some of the shrunken heads and trying to mask my disgust.

"Twenty Galleons each," he says shortly.

"Oh," I say. "Hmm... I might have to go for something with a bit of a lower price. My parents are going to want to know what I'm doing with all that gold, and since they work in the Ministry... well, it's best if they don't ask too many questions."

"They work in the Ministry, do they?" he says, looking at me suspiciously. When I nod, he says, "What are you doing here, then?"

"Oh, well, I've always been taught that the Dark Arts are really horrible and to stay away from it at all costs, and that's done nothing but made me really interested in it," I explain matter-of-factly, hoping I sound convincing, still smiling. "So, I slipped away while my parents were shopping to check out Knockturn Alley. I didn't know where else to go, your shop is the only one I've heard of. And to me, it seems like the best one here."

"Really?" Borgin says, looking as though he doesn't know whether to be flattered or even more suspicious.

"Really," I confirm cheerfully. "Anyway..." I stop at a bloodstained pack of cards, force myself to pick them up, and wave them around at Borgin. "Is this real blood?"

"Why would I sell fake blood?" Borgin snorts.

"Oh - oh, right," I say, forcing a laugh, but put it back regardless. "Maybe something else..."

I continue my way across the shop, stopping and asking about certain objects, talking animatedly to him all the while, trying to lesson his suspicions of me.

"... anyway," I say, after finished talking about how restricting my parents are supposed to be and how that led me here, and pointing to a shrivelled hand on display, "what's this?"

"Hand of Glory," Borgin replies. "Put a candle in it, and it'll give light only to you."

I reach up to touch it, but then move my hand out of the way just in time as it snaps to close around my wrist. Clutching my wrist, I turn back to Borgin.

"How much for it?" I ask, then point to a necklace nearby. "Oh, and that's awfully pretty. How much for that one, as well?"

"I don't think they're quite in your price range," he sneers.

"Oh, don't be like that," I say, smiling pleasantly. "Name a price."

"Well, if you've got one and a half thousand Galleons for that necklace," Borgin says coldly.

"Oh - wow," I say, raising my eyebrows slightly. "No, not quite that much... how about the - erm - hand?"

"You won't like that price, either," he states.

"Oh," I say, forcing myself to be disappointed, but in my mind, I'm rather curious; Borgin had told me the price for everything else, but for these two items, he had been reluctant. Were one of those items what Malfoy wanted? "Well, that's a shame. Whoever gets those two things is awfully lucky. I bet everyone likes them the most."

"It gets a fair amount of interest," he says shortly.

"Oh, don't be modest," I insist. "I bet loads of people want it. I'm surprised nobody's come in and bought it. If only I had enough money, I'd come in and take it away as soon as I can, wouldn't you? I can't think of a sane person who wouldn't, can you?"

"No, I can't," he says slowly, looking at me with narrowed eyes and a slight frown, and I suddenly realise that I've been rather obvious with this.

I decide it's better to get out now before he's really onto me, glance at the clock and say, pretending to be surprised, "Oh, wow, is that the time? I'd better get going - Ministry parents, you know, they get worried too easily. Anyway, I'll try to come back sometime later. Good day, sir!"

With that, I stride out of the shop, flinging the door open again, with Borgin staring at me suspiciously.

"He was onto me," I whisper as I duck under the cloak again. "Had to get out."

"Ah, well," Ron says, "you were doing well up until the end."

"Did you see how he was acting when I showed him the necklace and the hand, though?" I ask. "He told me the price to everything else right away, but he didn't want to with those two. D'you think that's what Malfoy wants?"

We talk in whispers until we reach Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes again, where we have to stop talking, so that we're not detected by an anxious looking Mrs. Weasley and Hagrid, who had evidently noted our absence. Once in the shop, Harry whips off the Invisibility Cloak, stows it in his bag, and joins Ron, Hermione, and I in insisting to Mrs. Weasley that we had been in the backroom the entire time and that she must not have checked properly.

 

***

 

* _Third Person Point of View, Fred's Perspective_ *

 

Fred had to try very hard to mask his disappointment. When Hazel had disappeared (though it was easy to forget his disappointment in his worry for her, Harry, Ron, and Hermione) and when she, Harry, Hermione, and the rest of his family had to leave afterwards. She had pulled him aside when they were saying goodbye, taking his hands in hers and looking up at him earnestly.

"I'm really going to miss you," she sighed. "We didn't get that much time together, really..."

"I know," she said. "And it'll be a while until we can see each other again."

"Don't remind me," she groaned, burying her head into his chest. "You're making this worse."

"I thought you ' _didn't miss me at all,_ '" Fred said, mocking her voice.

"First of all," Hazel said, removing herself from his chest, "I do  _not_ sound like that. Second of all, I thought you saw through my brilliant facade."

"I do," he said, "sometimes I just like hearing you spell it out for me."

"Or sometimes you need it," she teased.

"I was right; you are cruel."

Hazel laughed. Once she stopped, though, she looked up at him, brought one of his hands to her mouth, and kissed along his knuckles.

"Please write," she muttered against his hand. "Please, please write and say that it's definitely not long until we can see each other again, even if it is, just so I can get a bit more excited about things."

"Yeah," he said, watching her, transfixed, "yeah, of course I will."

She smiled up at him.

"Good," she said, and kissed him, on the lips this time.

He kissed her back fervently, taking her face in his hands and finding it almost unfair that she was going to have to leave for so long again. Hazel played with and tugged on his hair the way she knew he liked it, and when she pulled away, she kept her face close to his.

"And when we see each other again," she said in a low voice, "there's still that  _nothing_ you have to tell me."

"Right," he agreed breathlessly. "Definitely."

She grinned at him, before saying goodbye to George, and heading out of the shop with Harry, Hermione, and the rest of his family, clutching the products she had purchased.


	6. Lunch with Slughorn

**Distance Means Nothing**

**Chapter Six: Lunch with Slughorn**

 

The last week of holidays passes by rather quickly. Harry is quite keen on talking about what we saw with Malfoy in Knockturn Alley, so I imagine he gets annoyed by Ron, Hermione, and I when we get bored of talking about it after a few days.

"Yes, I've already agreed it was very fishy, Harry," Hermione says impatiently one day. She's sitting on the windowsill in Fred and George's room with her feet up on one of the cardboard boxes and has only grudgingly looked up from her new copy of  _Advanced Rune Translation._ Lying down on George's bed, I don't look up from the article in  _The Quibbler_ that I'm reading upside down, but I do listen intently to their conversation, my brow furrowed slightly. "But haven't we agreed that there could be a lot of explanations?"

"Maybe he's broke his Hand of Glory," Ron says vaguely, as he attempts to straighten his broomstick's bent tail twigs.

"But what about when he said, 'Don't forget to keep that none safe'?" Harry asks for the umpteenth time. "That sounds to me like Borgin;s got another one of the broken objects, and Malfoy wants both."

"You reckon?" Ron says, now trying to scrape some dirt off his broom handle.

"Yeah, I do," Harry says, and when none of us answers, he says, "Malfoy's dad is in Azkaban. Don't you think he'd like revenge?"

Ron looks up, blinking.

"Malfoy, revenge? What can he do about it?"

"That's my point, I don't know!" Harry replies, frustrated. "But he's up to something and I think we should take it seriously. His father's a Death Eater and - "

Harry suddenly breaks off. At this, I look away from the article on the editor, Xenophilius Lovegood, wrote on his trip to Sweden with his daughter, Luna, to find the Crumple-Horned Snorkack, to look at Harry, frowning. He's looking out the window behind Hermione, his mouth open.

"Harry?" I say, straightening up slightly, anxious. "What's wrong?"

"Your scar's not hurting again, is it?" Ron says nervously.

"He's a Death Eater," Harry says slowly. "He's replaced his father as a Death Eater!"

There's a silence; then Ron erupts into laughter.

"Malfoy? He's sixteen, Harry! You think You-Know-Who would let Malfoy join?"

"It seems very unlikely, Harry," Hermione says in a repressive sort of voice. "What makes you think - ?"

"In Madam Malkin's. She didn't touch him, but he yelled and jerked his arm away from her when she went to roll up his sleeve. It was his left arm. He's been branded with the Dark Mark."

Ron, Hermione, and I glance at each other.

"Well..." Ron says, sounding thoroughly unconvinced.

"I - I think he just wanted to get out of there, Harry," I say, sitting upright and choosing my words carefully. "I don't doubt Malfoy  _wants_ to be a Death Eater, and that he'll join as soon as he's of age, but... but not until he's actually of age, because I doubt Voldemort would let him join, anyway."

"He showed Borgin something we couldn't see," he presses on stubbornly. "Something that seriously scared Borgin. It was the Dark Mark, I know it - he was showing Borgin who he was dealing with, you saw how seriously Borgin took him!"

Ron, Hermione, and I exchange looks once more.

"I'm not sure about this, Harry..."

"Yeah, I still don't think You-Know-Who would let him join..."

Looking annoyed, Harry snatches up his Quidditch robes and leaves the room. Mrs. Weasley has been urging us not to leave our washing and packing until the last minute, but I think Harry just wants to leave the room.

"You don't think he actually thinks..." Ron says, a dew moments after the door closed behind Harry.

"I think he does," Hermione says.

"But it's  _Malfoy_ ," Ron says, as though this fact alone disproves Harry's entire theory.

"Which might be part of why Harry believes it so much," I say. "I mean, we all know Malfoy's a dick and that his family supports Voldemort and that he supports Voldemort, even if he's never outright said it... it's kind of obvious that Malfoy wants to become a Death Eater, and Harry also hates Malfoy... add that in with how fishy Malfoy's being... well, it's easy to see why he's so convinced of it."

"Well, I'm going to need a bit more proof before I believe it," Hermione states.

"Me, too," Ron says.

"Count me in on that," I say, lying back down again and returning to my article. "Now let's just see if he finds it."

 

***

 

For all that Mrs. Weasley talked of how we were going to have to deal with that last-minute scramble the morning of September first, our departure that morning is quite smooth. The Ministry car glides up to the front of the Burrow to find us waiting, trunks packed; Hermione's cat, Crookshanks, safely enclosed in his travelling basket; and Midnight, Hedwig, Harry's owl, Pigwidgeon, Ron's owl, and Ginny's new purple Pygmy Puff, Arnold, in cages.

" _Au revoir,_ 'Arry," Fleur says throatily, kissing him goodbye; Ron hurries forward, looking hopeful, but Ginny sticks her foot out and Ron falls, sprawling in the dust at Fleur's feet. Furious, red-faced, and dirt-splattered, he hurries into the car without saying goodbye.

There's no cheerful Hagrid waiting for us at King's Cross. Instead, two grim-faced, bearded Aurors in dark Muggle suits move forward from the moment the car stops and, flanking the party, marches us into the station without speaking.

"Quick, quick, through the barrier," Mrs. Weasley says, looking a little flustered by this rather austere efficiency. "Harry had better go first, with - ?"

She looks inquiringly at one of the Aurors, who nods briefly, seizes Harry's upper arm, and attempts to steer him towards the barrier between platforms nine and ten.

"I can walk, thanks," Harry says irritably, jerking his arm out of the Auror's grip. He pushes his trolley directly at the solid barrier, ignoring his silent companion.

Hermione, the Weasleys, and I join him soon. Without waiting to consult his grim-faced Auror, he motions to Ron, Hermione, and I to follow him along the platform to find an empty compartment. I glance over at Ron and Hermione nervously at this; prefects have to go to the prefects' carriage first and patrol the corridors for a while.

"We can't, Harry," Hermione says, looking apologetic. "Ron and I have got to go to the prefects' carriage first then patrol the corridors for a bit."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot,"

"You'd better get straight on the train, all of you, you've only got minutes to go," Mrs. Weasley says, consulting her watch. "Well, have a lovely term, Ron..."

"Mr. Weasley, can I have a quick word?" Harry says suddenly.

"Of course," Mr. Weasley replies, looking surprised, but following Harry out of earshot of the rest of us regardless.

I watch them suspiciously for a moment, frowning slightly, before Mrs. Weasley hugs me, and tells me that I'll be staying with them for Christmas and I'd better get on the train. I nod, grab my trunk and Midnight's cage, and hop onto the train after Ginny, nodding as she tells us to be good and stay safe this term.

I follow Ginny a little way down the hall to where some friends of hers stand, and though I don't talk much, since I don't know them, I do participate in their conversation somewhat. Harry joins us a moment later. I look around and notice people staring shamelessly at him; they even press their faces against the windows of their compartments. I can't say I'm surprised, with all the stories of him being the 'Chosen One,' but it's still annoying.

"Fancy trying to get a compartment?" he asks Ginny and I.

"I can't, I said I'd meet Dean," Ginny replies brightly. "See you two later."

"See you," I say cheerfully, winking at her furtively.

She shoves me, laughing, then walks away, her long red hair dancing around her. I look around at Harry, about to suggest that we find a compartment now or we might not be able to save seats for Ron and Hermione, when I notice the rather annoyed on his face as he watches Ginny walking away.

 _Well, he certainly looks a bit too bothered about Ginny going to see Dean,_ I think, a smirk crossing my face.

"Alright, Harry?" I say, unable to help myself.

He looks round at me, then frowns.

"Yeah, why?" he replies, slightly defensively. "What're you looking at me like that for?"

"Nothing, nothing," I say, raising my hands in surrender for a moment, still smirking, before picking up my trunk and Midnight's cage again. "Come on, let's go find compartments - "

I stop abruptly, because we're surrounded by girls, and they're all staring, as though mesmerised, at Harry. I roll my eyes slightly; this I had also expected. With Harry being the 'Chosen One,' everyone knowing that he had bravely led the rest of us into the Department of Mysteries to stop Voldemort and his Death Eaters, the fact that everyone knows that Harry had bravely stuck to his story of Voldemort being back all last year, in spite of everything he had to deal with from Umbridge, the Ministry, and the Daily Prophet, and - well, let's face it - the fact that he had basically grown a foot taller over the summer, I knew it was only a mater of time before admiring girls started surrounding him. I had only hoped that we could've made it to Hogwarts first.

"Hi, Harry, Hazel!" a voice behind us says.

"Neville!" Harry says in relief, as we turn to see the round-faced boy struggling towards us.

"Hello, Harry, Hazel," says a girl with long hair and large misty eyes, who's just behind Neville.

"Hi, Luna, how are you?"

"Very well, thank you," she replies, clutching a magazine to her chest; large letters on the front announces that there's a free pair of Spectrespecs inside.

" _Quibbler_ still going strong, then?" Harry asks.

"Oh, yes, circulation's well up," Luna answers happily.

"Let's find seats," Harry says, and the four of us set off along the train through hordes of silently staring students. At last we find an empty compartment, and Harry hurries inside gratefully.

"They're even staring at us!" Neville says, gesturing at himself, Luna, and I. "Because we're with you!"

"They're staring at you because you were in the Ministry, too," Harry corrects him. "Our little adventure was all over the  _Daily Prophet_ \- you must have seen it."

"Yes, I thought Gran would be angry about all the publicity," Neville says, "but she's really pleased. Says I'm starting to live up to my dad at long last. She bought me a new wand, look!"

He pulls it out and shows it to Harry and I.

"Cherry and unicorn hair," he says proudly. "We think it's one of the last Ollivander ever sold, he disappeared the next day - oi, come back here, Trevor!"

He dives under his seat to retrieve his toad as it makes one of its frequent attempts for freedom.

"Are we still doing the DA meetings this year, Harry?" Luna asks, detaching a pair of psychedelic spectacles from the middle of  _The Quibbler_.

"No point now we got rid of Umbridge, is there?" Harry replies.

Neville bumped his head against the seat as he emerges from it. He looks rather disappointed.

"I liked the DA! I learned loads with you."

"I liked the meetings, too," Luna says serenely. "It was like having friends."

This is one of those uncomfortably truthful things Luna often says that leaves me feeling a mixture of pity and embarrassment. I exchange uncomfortable looks with Harry, but before we can respond, there's a disturbance outside the compartment door; a group of fourth-year girls are whispering and giggling together on the other side of the glass.

"You ask him!"

"No, you!"

"I'll do it!"

And one of them, a bold-looking girl with large dark eyes, a prominent chin, and long black hair pushes her way through the door.

"Hi, Harry, I'm Romilda, Romilda Vane," the girl says loudly and confidently. "Why don't you join us in our compartment? You don't have to sit with them," she adds in a stage whisper, indicating at Neville's bottom, which is sticking out from under the seat as he tries to find Trevor, and Luna, who's now wearing her free Spectrespecs, giving her the look of an odd, multicoloured owl. She looks round at me, but I give her a challenging sort of look that makes her look back at Harry rather quickly.

"They're friends of mine," Harry says coldly.

"Oh," Romilda says, looking very surprised. "Oh. Okay."

And she withdraws, sliding the door closed behind her.

"People expect you to have cooler friends than us," Luna states, displaying once again her knack for embarrassing honesty. "I suppose the only one she'd expect you to be friends with here is Hazel."

"You are cool," Harry says shortly, while I try not to look embarrassed at Luna's comment. "None of them were at the Ministry. They didn't fight with me."

"That's a very nice thing to say," Luna beams. Then she pushes her Spectrespecs farther up her nose and settles down to read her copy of  _The Quibbler_.

"We didn't face him, though," Neville points out, emerging from under his seat with fluff and dust in his hair and a resigned-looking Trevor in his hands. "You did. You should hear the way Gran talks about you. 'That Harry Potter's got more backbone than the whole Ministry of Magic put together!' She'd give anything to have you as a grandson.."

Harry laughs uncomfortable and changes the subject to OWLs. Neville recites his grades and wonders aloud if he'll be allowed to continue with Transfiguration with only an 'Acceptable' (I doubt it, but I don't tell him that). I glance over at Harry and notice an odd expression on his face as he watches Neville.

Neville seems to notice it, too, because he says, "You alright, Harry? You look funny."

"Sorry - I - " Harry starts.

"Wrackspurt got you?" Luna asks sympathetically, peering at Harry through her enormous spectacles.

"I - what?"

"A wrackspurt... they're invisible. They float through your ears and make your brain go fuzzy," she says. "I thought I felt one zooming around here."

She flaps her hands at thin air, as though beating away invisible moths. Harry, Neville, and I exchange looks and quickly change the subject to Quidditch.

The weather beyond the window is as patchy as it has been all summer; we pass through stretches of chilly mist, then out into weak, clear sunlight; it's during one of the clear spells, where the sun is visible almost directly overhead, that Ron and Hermione enter at last.

"Wish the lunch trolley would hurry up, I'm starving," Ron says longingly, slumping into the seat beside me and rubbish his stomach. "Hi, Neville. Hi, Luna. Guess what?" he adds, turning to Harry and I. "Malfoy's not doing prefect duty. He's just sitting in his compartment with the other Slytherins, we saw him when we passed."

I raise my eyebrows slightly, while Harry sits up straighter. It's not like Malfoy to pass us the chance to demonstrate his power as a prefect, which he had happily abused all throughout the previous year.

"What did he do when he saw you?" I say.

"The usual," Ron replies indifferently, demonstrating a rude hand gesture. "Not like him, though, is it? Well - that is - " he demonstrates the hand gesture again - "but why isn't he out there bullying the first years?"

"Dunno," Harry replies, looking thoughtful.

"Maybe he preferred the Inquisitorial Squad," suggests Hermione. "Maybe being a prefect seems a bit tame after that."

"I don't think so," Harry says. "I think he's - "

But before he can finish his sentence, the compartment door slides open once more and a breathless third year steps inside.

"I'm supposed to deliver these to Hazel Knight, Neville Longbottom, and Harry P-Poter," she falters, her face turning scarlet as her eyes meet Harry's.

She's holding out two scrolls of parchment tied with violet ribbon. Perplexed, Harry, Neville, and I each take the scroll addressed to us, and the girl stumbles back out of the compartment.

"What is it?" Ron demands, as we unroll our scrolls.

"An invitation,"Harry replies, and he's quite right.

 

_Hazel,_

_I would be delighted if you would join me for a bite of lunch in compartment C._

_Sincerely,_

_Professor H.E.F. Slughorn._

 

"But what does he want me for?" Neville asks nervously, looking as though he's expecting a detention.

"Or me, for that matter?" I add, looking back down at the invitation in confusion.

"No idea. Listen," Harry adds, "let's go under the Invisibility Cloak, then we might be able to get a good look at Malfoy on the way, see what he's up to."

This idea, however, comes to nothing; the corridors, which are packed with people on the lookout for the lunch trolley, are impossible to walk around while wearing the Cloak. Eventually, Harry stows it regretfully in his bag, though I think he probably should've kept it on, if only to escape all of the staring. Every now and then, students would hurtle out of their compartment to get a good look at him. The one exception is Cho Chang, who darts into her compartment when she sees him coming. As we pass the window, I see her making very determined conversation with Marietta Edgecombe, who is wearing very heavy makeup that does not disguise the formation of pimples etched across her face. Smirking slightly at her, we move on.

We we reach compartment C, we see that we are not Slughorn's only invitees, although judging by the enthusiasm of Slughorn's welcome, Harry is by far the most warmly anticipated.

"Harry, m'boy! Slughorn says, jumping up so that his great, velvet-covered belly seems to fill the remaining space in the compartment. As I look at him, I remember Harry saying he looks like a walrus, and I privately agree with him, even though it might only be because of the enormous, silver moustache. "Good to see you, good to see you! And you must be Mr. Longbottom!"

Neville nods, looking rather scared. Slughorn's eyes slide over to me next.

"Oh! And, of course, you'll be Hazel Knight!" he says.

"Erm, yes, that's right, sir," I reply, rather confused as to how he knows.

At a gesture from Slughorn, we sit down in the only three empty seats, which are nearest to the door. I glance around at our fellow guests; I recognise a Slytherin from my year, a tall, black boy with high cheekbones and long, slanting eyes; there are two seventh-years that I do not know; and, squashed in the corner beside Slughorn and looking as though she's not entirely sure as to how she got there, is Ginny.

"Now, do you know everyone?" Slughorn asks Harry, Neville, and I. "Blaise Zabini is in your year, of course - "

Zabini doesn't give any sign of recognition or greeting, and neither do we. Gryffindors and Slytherins, as stupid as it is when you say it out loud, hate each other on principle.

"This is Cormac McLaggen, perhaps you've come across each other - no?"

McLaggen, a large, wiry-haired boy, raises his had, and we nod back at him.

" - and this is Marcus Belby, I don't know whether - "

Belby, who is thin and nervous-looking, gives us a strained smile.

" - and this charming young lady tells me she knows you!" Slughorn finishes.

Ginny grimaces at Harry, Neville, and I from behind Slughorn's back, and I hold back a laugh with difficulty.

"Well, now, this is most pleasant," Slughorn states cosily. "A chance to get to know you all a little better. Here, take a napkin. I've packed my own lunch; the trolley, as I remember it, is heavy on liquorice wands, and a poor man's digestive system isn't quite up to such things... pheasant, Belby?"

Belby starts and accepts what looks to be half of a cold pheasant.

"I was just telling young Marcus here that I had the pleasure of teaching his Uncle Damocles," Slughorn tells Harry, Neville, and I. "Outstanding wizard, outstanding, and his Order of Merlin most well-deserved. Do you see much of your uncle, Marcus?"

Unfortunately, Belby has just taken a large mouthful of pheasant; in his haste to answer Slughorn's question, he swallows too quickly, begins to choke, and turns purple.

" _Anapneo!_ " Slughorn says calmly, pointing his wand at Belby's throat, which seems to clear up immediately.

"Not... not much of him, no," Belby gasps, his eyes streaming.

"Well, of course, I daresay he's busy," Slughorn says, looking questioningly at Belby. "I doubt he invented the Wolfsbane Potion without considerable hard work!"

"I suppose..." Belby says, who doesn't seem to want to eat again until he's quite sure that Slughorn is done with him. "Er... well, he and Dad don't get on very well, you see, so I don't really know much about..."

His voice tails away as Slughorn gives him a cold smile and turns to McLaggen again.

"No, Cormac," he says, "I happen to know you see a lot of your Uncle Tiberius, because he has a rather splendid photo of you two hunting Nogtails in, I think, Norfolk?"

"Oh, yeah, that was fun, that was," McLaggen replies. "We went with Bertie Higgs and Rufus Scrimgeuor - this was before he became Minister, obviously - "

"Ah, you know Bertie and Rufus, too?" Slughorn beams, looking much more satisfied with McLaggen than he did with Belby, now passing around mince pies; somehow, Belby was left out. "Now, tell me..."

It continues like this. Everyone here seems to be invited because they are somehow conected to someone famous or influential - everyone except for Ginny. I think I have a hunch as to why I'm here, but I push it away from my mind with difficulty. Zabini, who is interrogated after McLaggen, turns out to have a famously beautiful witch for a mother (from what I can make out, she has been married at least seven times, each of her husbands dying mysteriously and leaving her a lot of gold). It's Neville's turn next. This is a very uncomfortable ten minutes, since Neville's parents, who had been well-known Aurors, had been tortured into insanity by a couple of Death Eaters, including Bellatrix Lestrange. At the end of Neville's interview, I get the impression Slughorn is reserving judgement on Neville, as though waiting to decide to see whether or not Neville has any of his parents' flair.

Slughorn's eyes slide over to me next.

"And you, of course, are the daughter of Brandon and Jasmine Knight!"

A prickle of annoyance and reluctant acceptance washes over me at his words. As I had guessed, the reason why I'm here is my parents.

 _Well, what were you expecting?_ I think to myself, not understand why I'm so disappointed.  _Why else would anybody want you around?_

"Of course, of course, you're the spitting image of your mother!" he says, when I nod. "Of course, I've heard many people say it, but it's uncanny seeing it in real life! I do wonder what else you have in common with your parents."

"Oh," I say, feeling both uncomfortable and annoyed and getting the distinct impression that I should be saying something clever right now, though I don't know how he expects me to know if I have  _anything_ in common with my parents besides looks, considering the fact that they died when I was one years-old, "I don't really think... I mean, people have commented about some things... but I'm not really sure if - "

"You've got your mother's modesty!" he notes, smiling. "You know, I've heard that you've also got their cleverness..."

I want to ask him where the hell he's getting his information, but I don't; instead, I say, "Oh, I don't know, I suppose I'm fairly... I'm not stupid, anyway," I finish lamely, then blurt out, "but do tell whoever told you I was clever that I said thank you."

At this, Slughorn lets out a laugh, though I didn't realise I was being funny. He tells me that my parents were just as witty, before continuing on, talking about my parents, and by the end of it, I get the impression that he likes me, though I have no idea what I've done besides answer his questions and make an occasional smart remark.

"And now," Slughorn, shifting in his seat with the air of someone introducing their star act, "Harry Potter! I feel as though I barely scratched the surface when we met over the summer! 'The Chosen One,' they're calling you now!"

Harry says nothing, and I decide to look down at my knees instead of Harry, like Belby, McLaggen, and Zabini are doing.

"Of course," Slughorn says, watching Harry closely, "there have been rumours for years... I remember when - well - after that terrible night - Lily - James - and you survived - and the word was that you must have powers beyond the ordinary - "

Zabini gives a tiny little cough that's clearly meant to show amused scepticism. An angry voice bursts out from behind Slughorn.

"Yes, Zabini, because  _you're_ so talented... at posing..."

"Oh, dear!" Slughorn says, chuckling, looking around at Ginny, who's glaring around Slughorn at Zabini. "You'll want to be careful, Blaise! I saw this young lady perform the most marvellous Bat-Bogey Hex as I was passing her carriage! I wouldn't cross her!"

Zabini merely looks contemptuous.

"Anyway," Slughorn says, turning back to Harry, "such rumours this summer. Of course, one doesn't want to believe, the  _Prophet_ has been known to print inaccuracies, make mistakes - but there seems to be little doubt, given the number of witnesses, that there was quite a disturbance in the Ministry and that you were in the thick of it all!"

Harry nods, and Slughorn beams at him.

"So modest, so modest, no wonder Dumbledore is so fond - you were there, then? But the rest of the stories - so sensational, of course, one doesn't know quite what to believe - this fabled prophecy, for instance - "

"We never heard a prophecy," Neville states, turning bright pink as the words leave his mouth.

"That's right," Ginny says staunchly. "Hazel, Neville, and I were there, too, and all this 'Chosen One' rubbish is just the  _Prophet_ making things up as usual."

"You three were there, too, were you?" Slughorn says with great interest, looking from Ginny, to Neville, to me, but none of us say anything, in spite of his encouraging smile. I exchange sideways glances with Harry, before quickly refocusing my gaze on Slughorn.

"Yes... well... it is true the Prophet often exaggerates, of course..." Slughorn says, sounding a little disappointed. "I remember dear Gwenog telling me - Gwenog Jones, of course, Captain of the Holyhead Harpies - "

He meanders off into a long-winded reminiscence, one that I barely listen to, but I have the impression that he does't quite believe that the Prophet is totally lying about Harry these days. The afternoon wears on as Slughorn talks of all the illustrious wizards he has taught, all of which had been delighted to join what he calls the "Slug Club" at Hogwarts. Frankly, I can't wait to leave, but I can't find a way to do so politely. Finally, the train emerges from yet another long misty stretch into a red sunset, and Slughorn looks around, blinking in the twilight.

"Good gracious, it's getting dark already! I didn't notice they'd lit the lamps! You'd better go and change into your robes, all of you. McLaggen, you must drop by and borrow that book on Nogtails. Harry, Blaise, Hazel - any time you're passing. Same goes for you, miss," he twinkles at Ginny. "Well, off you go, off you go!"

As he pushes past Harry into the darkening corridor, Zabini shoots Harry a filthy look that he returns with interest. He, Ginny, Neville, and I follow Zabini back along the train.

"I'm glad that's over," Neville mutters. "Strange man, isn't he?"

"Yeah, he is a bit," Harry agrees, though I note that his eyes are on Zabini. "How come you ended up in there, Ginny?"

"He saw me hex Zacharias Smith," Ginny replies. "You remember that idiot from Hufflepuff who was in the DA? He kept on asking me about what happened in the Ministry and in the end it annoyed me so much that I hexed him - when Slughorn came in I thought I was going to get detention, but he just thought it was a really good hex and invited me to lunch! Mad, eh?"

 _Better than the reason I was in there,_ I think, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jumper and exhaling deeply.

"Better reason for inviting someone because their mother's famous," Harry says, scowling at the back of Zabini's head, "or because their uncle - "

But he suddenly breaks off. I look round at him, frowning at the faraway expression on his face. I'm just about to ask him what's on his mind, when he speaks.

"I'll see you three later," he says under his breath, putting on his Invisibility Cloak and throwing it over himself.

"But what're you - ?" Neville begins.

"Later," Harry's voice whispers, somewhere to my left, and when he doesn't speak again, I assume he has left, but I have no idea where, since the loud rattling of the train makes it impossible to hear.

Ginny, Neville, and I look at each other, though we don't say anything for a few moments.

"What's he on about?" Ginny finally wonders aloud.

I simply shrug.

"Who knows?"

We pause for another moment, before Ginny says, "Well, I'd better get back to Dean... see you two later."

"See you," Neville and I chorus, and Ginny disappears down the corridor.

"We'd better get back, too," I add to Neville.

"Yeah, good idea, c'mon," Neville nods, and together we go back to our compartment.

Harry doesn't come back for the entire rest of the train ride, not when we've all changed into our robes, and not when the train comes to a stop at Hogsmeade station. I look all around as we walk slowly forward towards one of the exits, trying to find any sign of Harry, but it's useless with so many people around.

When I'm at the door of the train, I bite my lip and look around again, going on tiptoe momentarily in a fruitless attempt to find him again. I'm just considering hanging back to look for him, when Ron speaks.

"He's probably in one of the carriages already, c'mon. Anyway, you're holding everyone up."

I look round at him and find him trying not to look very worried himself. Then I look behind me and see that, indeed, people are starting to look impatient, so I hurriedly jump off the train and walk forward amidst the crowd, still trying and failing to find Harry.

"Firs' years over 'ere.. firs' years..." a voice calls, and in my worry, I feel slight relief; it is, as it usually is and as it always should be, Hagrid guiding the first years to the boats. In this aspect, this year is already better than the last one, since Hagrid had been absent the first two months.

I wave at Hagrid and he waves back, grinning. Then he frowns slightly.

"Where's Harry?" he calls.

"No clue," I reply. "Keep an eye out for him, will you?"

He nods, and I allow myself to be shunted forward onto the road outside Hogsmeade Station, where the hundred or so carriages stand, pulled by the skeletal, dragon-like, white-eyed Thestrals as usual.

Ron, Hermione, Luna, Neville, and I find a carriage, and I go inside last. Before I do, I cast an anxious glance up and down the road, looking at the people entering their own carriages and trying, once again, to find Harry. After a moment, however, I decide (or, at least, I hope) that he's found a different carriage to sit in and that we'll see him soon enough, and enter the carriage.

Which is why my worry increases considerably when none of us can find any sign of Harry at the feast. All of us looking around carefully, Ron, Hermione, and I find seats, making sure we have enough room for Harry when - or, I'm starting to wonder,  _if_ \- he shows up. In my worry, I hardly pay attention to the Sorting Hat's song - though I do listen enough to note that it has the same message as it did last time: advising Hogwarts to unite against its enemies - and pay even less attention to the Sorting itself, though I do clap for any first years that get Sorted into Gryffindor; not to mention, the food doesn't taste as good as it normally does in my worry, either.

When Harry does walk through the doors, his appearance is a bit of a surprise, since even though he's walking very fast and it's not until he reaches the Hufflepuff table that other people notice he's here, it's clear that his face is covered in blood. By the time people start standing to get a look at him, however, he has found Ron, Hermione, and I, speeds along between the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor tables, and throws himself into the seat we've saved for him.

"Where've you - blimey, what happened to your face?" Ron says, goggling at him.

"Why, what's wrong with it?" Harry demands, grabbing it and looking at his reflection.

"You're covered in blood! Come here," Hermione says, raises her wand, and siphoning off the dried blood, says, " _Terego!_ "

"Thanks," Harry says, feeling his now clean face. "How's my nose looking?"

"Normal," I reply, confused, "why shouldn't it? Harry, what happened? We were terrified!"

"I'll tell you later," Harry says curtly, and glancing around, see that Ginny, Neville, Dean, Seamus, and even the Gryffindor ghost, Nearly Headless Nick, is eavesdropping.

"But - " Hermione begins.

"Not now, Hermione," Harry says in a darkly significant voice.

He reaches across the table for some of the food, but before he can take it they've vanished, replaced by puddings.

"You missed the Sorting, anyway," Hermione says, as Ron reaches for a large chocolate gateau.

"Hat say anything interesting?" Harry asks, taking a bit of treacle tart.

"More of the same thing, really... advising us to unite against enemies," I reply.

"Dumbledore mentioned Voldemort at all?"

"Not yet, but Dumbledore always saves his proper speech for after the feat, doesn't he? It can't be long now."

"Snape said Hagrid was late for the feast - "

"You've seen Snape? How come?" Ron says, through frenzied mouthfuls of gateau.

"Bumping into him," Harry says evasively.

"Hagrid was only a few minutes later," Hermione replies. "Look, he's waving at you, Harry."

Indeed, Hagrid, at the staff table, is waving at Harry, who returns the action with a grin. Hagrid never quite managed to carry himself with the dignity of Professor McGonagall, who's sitting at Hagrid's side and looking disapprovingly at this enthusiastic greeting. I'm rather surprised to see Professor Trelawney on Hagrid's other side, as she rarely leaves her tower room, and I've never seen her at the start-of-term feast before. She looks odd as ever, glittering with beads and trailing shawls, her eyes magnified to an enormous size by her spectacles.

"So, what did Professor Slughorn want?" Hermione asks.

"To know what really happened at the Ministry," Harry answers.

"Him and everyone else here," Hermione sniffs. "People were interrogating us about it on the train, weren't they, Ron, Hazel?"

"Yeah," I nod. "Everyone wants to know if you're really the 'Chosen One' - "

"There has been much talk about that subject even among the ghosts," Nearly Headless Nick interrupts, inclining his barely connected head to Harry, so that it wobbles dangerously. "I am considered something of a Potter authority; it is widely known that we are friendly. I have assured the spirit community that I will not pester you for information, however. 'Harry Potter knows he can confide in me with complete confidence,' I told them. 'I would rather die than betray his trust.'"

"That's not saying much, seeing as you're already dead," Ron points out.

"Once again, you show all the sensitivity of a blunt axe," Nick says, sounding very offended, and he rises back into the air to glide over to the far end of the Gryffindor table just as Dumbledore stands up. The talking and laughing in the Great Hall dies away almost instantly.

"The very best evenings to you!" he says, smiling broadly, his arms opened wide as though to embrace the whole room.

"What happened to his hand?" Hermione gasps.

She is certainly not the only one who has noticed, since whispers break in the room, all talking about Dumbledore's blackened, dead-looking right hand. Dumbledore, correctly interpreting the cause of the whispers, merely smiles and shakes his purple-and-gold sleeve over the injury.

"Nothing to worry about," he says airily. "Now, to our new students, welcome, to our old students, welcome back! Another year full of magical education awaits you..."

"His hand was like that when I saw him over the summer," Harry whispers. "I thought he'd have it cured by now, though... or Madam Pomfrey would've done."

"It looks as though it's died," Hermione says with a nauseated expression. "But there are some injuries you can't cure... old curses... and there are poisons without antidotes..."

"... and Mr. Filch, our caretaker, has asked me to say that there is a blanket ban on any joke items bought at the ship called Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

"Those wishing to play for their House Quidditch teams should give their names to their Heads of House as usual. We are also looking for new Quidditch commentators, who should do likewise.

"We are pleased to welcome a new member to our staff this year, Professor Slughorn - " Slughorn stands up, his bald held gleaming in the candlelight - "is a former colleague of mine who has agreed to resume his old post as Potions master."

"Potions?"

The word echoes around the hall as people seem to be wondering whether they've heard Dumbledore right, myself included in that.

"Potions?" Ron, Hermione, and I say together, turning to Harry questioningly. "But you said - "

"Professor Snape, meanwhile," Dumbledore continues, raising his voice to be heard over the students, "will be taking the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."

"No!" Harry says, so loudly that several people turn to look at him.

How could Snape be given that job after all this time? Isn't it widely known that Dumbledore does not trust Snape enough to give it to him?

"But, Harry, you said Slughorn was going to be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts!" I say, looking round at Harry with a horrified expression on my face.

"I thought he was!" Harry states.

Snape, who's sitting at Dumbledore's right, does not stand up at the mention of his name; he merely raises a hand in lazy acknowledgement of the applause from the Slytherin table, but I'm quite certain that I can detect a look of triumph on the face that I hate so much.

"Well, there's one good thing," Harry says savagely. "Snape will be gone by the end of the year."

"What do you mean?" asks Ron.

"The job's jinxed. Nobody's lasted more than a year... Quirrell actually died doing it... personally, I'm hoping for another death..."

"Harry!" Hermione reprimands, looking shocked and reproachful.

"He might just go back to Potions at the end of the year," Ron points out fairly. "That Slughorn bloke might not want to stay long-term. Moody didn't."

Dumbledore clears his throat. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I aren't the only ones that have been talking; the whole Hall is full with a buzz of noise, everyone talking about the fact that after all this time, Snape has achieved his heart's desire. Dumbledore says nothing more on the staff appointments, though he does wait a few minutes to ensure that the Hall is silent before continuing.

"Now, as everybody in this Hall knows, Lord Voldemort and his followers are at large once more and gaining strength."

The silence seems to tauten and strain at Dumbledore's words.

"I cannot emphasise strongly enough how dangerous the present situation is, and how much care each of us at Hogwarts must take to ensure we stay safe. The castle's magical fortifications have been strengthened over the summer, we are protected in new and more powerful ways, but we must still guard scrupulously against carelessness on the part of any student or member of staff. I urge you, therefore, to abide by any security restrictions that teachers might impose on you - in particular, the rule that you should not be out after hours. I implore you, should you notice anything strange or suspicious within or outside the castle, to report it to a member of staff immediately. I trust you to conduct yourselves, always, with the utmost regard for your own and others' safety."

Dumbledore's bright blue eyes sweep over the students, before he smiles once more.

"But now, your beds await, as warm and comfortable as you could possibly wish, and I know that your top priority is to be well-rested for your lessons tomorrow. Let us therefore say goodnight. Pip-pip!"

With the usual deafening scraping noise, the benches move back and hundreds of students begin to file out of the Great Hall. Harry, clearly deciding that he'd rather not walk with the gaping crowd, hangs behind, pretending to tie the laces of his trainers, allowing most Gryffindors to draw ahead. Hermione has darted forward to fulfil her prefect duties, but Ron stays behind with Harry and I.

"What really happened to your nose?" he asks, once we're at the very back of the throng and out of earshot of anyone else.

Harry tells the whole story; how he had snuck into the compartment where Malfoy was, how Malfoy had known and, when everyone else was gone, had jinxed him and broken his nose, how Tonks had been the one to find him and take him back to Hogwarts, and how Snape had been the one to escort him to the feast.

"I saw Malfoy miming doing something with his nose," Ron says darkly.

"Yeah, well, never mind that," Harry says bitterly. "Listen to what he said before he found out I was there.."

He tells us about Malfoy's boasting on the train, and about how he might not even return to Hogwarts the next year.


	7. Felix Felicis

**Distance Means Nothing**

**Chapter Seven: Felix Felicis**

 

Hermione and I meet Harry and Ron in the common room before breakfast the next morning, where Harry wastes no time in telling Hermione what he heard Malfoy saying in his compartment on the train.

"But obviously he was just showing off for Parkinson, right?" Ron interjects quickly, before Hermione can speak.

"Well," she says uncertainly, "I don't know... it would be like Malfoy to make himself seem more important than he is... but that's a big lie to tell..."

Which is true, but it's also true that Malfoy has always been more talk than walk, isn't it?

"Exactly," Harry says, but cannot press the point, because so many people are trying to listen to exactly what he's saying, not to mention the countless people staring and whispering behind their hands.

"It's rude to point," Ron snaps as a miniscule first year boy as we join the queue to climb out of the portrait hole. The boy, who had been muttering something to his friend about Harry behind his hand, promptly turned scarlet and topples out of the hole in alarm. Ron sniggers. "I love being a sixth year. And we're going to be getting free time this year. Whole periods where we can just sit up here and relax."

"We're going to need those periods for studying, Ron!" Hermione says, as we set off down the corridor.

"Yeah, but not today," Ron points out.

"Hold it!" Hermione says, holding out her arm and stopping a passing fourth year, who is attempting to push past her with a lime-green disk clutched tightly in his hand. "Fanged Frisbees are banned, hand it over," she says sternly.

The scowling boy hands over his snarling Frisbee, ducks under her arm, and runs to catch up with his friends. Ron waits for the fourth year boy to be out of sight, then tugs the Frisbee out of Hermione's grip.

"Excellent, I've always wanted one of those."

Hermione's remonstration is drowned out by a loud giggle. Lavender Brown has apparently found Ron's remark to be highly amusing. She continues to laugh as she passes us, glancing back at Ron over her shoulder. Ron looks highly pleased with himself.

When Hermione yanks it out of his grip, a little harder than she might have done normally, I whisper to Ron, "Don't worry, I've got one in my dormitory you can use."

Ron grins broadly at me.

The ceiling of the Great Hall is serenely blue and streaked with frail, wispy clouds, as are the squares of sky visible through the windows. While we tuck into breakfast, Harry, Ron, and I tell Hermione about the rather uncomfortable conversation we had with Hagrid the previous night.

"But he can't really think we'd continue Care of Magical Creatures!" she says, looking distressed. "I mean, when have any of us ever expressed... you know... any enthusiasm?"

"That's it, though, isn't it?" Ron says. "We were the ones who made the most effort in the class because we like Hagrid. But he thinks we liked the stupid subject. D'you reckon anyone's going to go on to NEWT?"

Harry, Hermione, and I don't answer, because there's no need; we all know that very, very little people in our year are going to be continuing with Care of Magical Creatures. We avoid Hagrid's eye and return his greeting only half-heartedly when he leaves the staff table ten minutes later.

After we have eaten, we remain in our seats, awaiting Professor McGonagalls descent from the staff table. The distribution of timetables is a little more complicated than usual, since this year Professor McGonagall needs to first confirm that everyone has achieved the necessary OWL grades to continue with their chosen NEWTS.

Hermione is immediately cleared to continue with Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Herbology, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Potions. I'm cleared rather quickly to continue with all the same subjects except for Arirthmancy, which I had dropped after my third year, and the minute I take my schedule from Professor McGonagall, Hermione grabs my wrist, and we dash off to Ancient Runes class without further ado.

I've lived through better lessons in the Ancient Runes classroom - lessons that aren't so complicated and don't end in a fifteen-inch essay, two translations, and a great deal of books to read by Wednesday. An hour later, we leave the classroom and head off to Defence Against the Dark Arts, clutching our heavy books and feeling rather put-upon.

"We got so much homework for Runes," Hermione says anxiously, when Harry and Ron join us. "A fifteen-inch essay, two translations, and we've got to read all these by Wednesday!"

"Shame," Ron yawns.

"You wait," Hermione says resentfully, "I bet Snape'll give us loads."

The classroom door opens as she speaks, and Snape steps into the corridor, his sallow face framed by two curtains of greasy black hair. Silence falls over the queue immediately.

"Inside," he says.

I look around as I walk inside, wondering privately how I'm supposed to enjoy my favourite subject when it's being taught by my least favourite teacher. Snape has imposed his personality upon the room already; it's gloomier than usual, as the curtains have been drawn over the windows, and is lit only by candlelight. New pictures adorn the walls, many of them showing people that appear to be in pain, sporting grisly injuries or strangely contorted body parts. Nobody speaks as we sit down, looking around at the shadowy, gruesome pictures.

"I have not asked you to take out your books," Snape says, closing the door and turning to face the class from behind his back. Hermione hastily drops her copy of  _Confronting the Faceless_ back into her bag and stows it under her chair. "I wish to speak to you, and I want your fullest attention."

His eyes rove over our upturned faces as he begins, "You have had five teachers in this subject so far, I believe."

 _You believe,_ I think scathingly,  _like you haven't watched them all come and go, hoping you'd be next..._

"Naturally, these teachers will all have their own priorities and methods. Given this confusion, I'm surprised that so many of you managed to scrape up an OWL in this subject. I shall be even more surprised if all of you manage to keep up with the NEWT work, which will be even more advanced."

Snape sets off around the edge of the room, making the class crane their necks to keep him in view, speaking in a lower voice.

"The Dark Arts are many, varied, ever-changing, and eternal. Fighting them is like a many-headed monster, which, each time is a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible. Your defences," he continues, a little louder now, "must therefore be as flexible and inventive as the arts you seek to undo. These pictures - " he indicates to a few of them as he passes - "give a fair representation of what happens to those who suffer, for instance, the Cruciatus Curse - " he waves a hand towards a witch who is very clearly shrieking with agony - "feel the Dementor's Kiss - " he motions to a wizard lying huddled and blank-eyed, slumped against a wall - "or provoke the aggression of the Inferius - " a bloody mass upon the ground.

"Has an Inferius been seen, then?" Parvati Patil asks in a high-pitched voice. "Is it definite, is he using them?"

"The Dark Lord has used Inferi in the past," Snape replies, "which is why you would be well-advised to assume he will use them again." My heart gives an unpleasant twist of fear, thinking of the gaunt, skeletal beings, human corpses that are brought back, zombie-like, by a Dark wizard to do its bidding.

"Now," Snape continues, setting off around the other wise of the classroom toward his desk and, again, we watch as he walks, his dark robes billowing behind him, "you are, I believe, complete novices in the use of nonverbal spells. What is the advantage of a nonverbal spell?"

Hermione's hand shoots up in the air, so that Snape takes his time in looking around the room, making absolutely sure that he has no other option, before curtly saying, "Very well - Miss Granger?"

"Your adversary has no warning about what kind of magic you're about to perform," Hermione replies, "which gives you a split-second advantage."

"An answer copied almost word-for-word from  _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six,_ " Snape remarks dismissively, making Malfoy snigger from the corner of the room, "but correct in essentials. Yes, those who progress in using magic without shouting incantations gain an element of surprise in their spell-casting. Not all wizards can do this, of course; it is a question of mind power and concentration which some lack.

"You will not divide," he goes on, "into pairs. One partner will attempt to jinx the other without speaking. The other will attempt to repel the jinx in equal silence. Carry on."

It's not long until a great deal of cheating ensues; many people merely whisper the incantation instead of saying it loudly. Typically, it takes Hermione all of ten minutes to be able to manage to put a Jelly-Legs Jinx on me without uttering a single word, a feat that surely would have earned Gryffindor twenty points from any reasonable teacher, but Snape ignores.

Instead, he just turns to me, notices that while I managed to silently produce a Shield Charm powerful enough to block the worst of the spell, it still doesn't prevent my legs from wobbling enough to stretch my arms out on either side of me to keep balances, and says, "And you received an 'O' in your OWL? How...  _surprising._ "

I glare at him, a glare that would've been more intimidating if I wasn't struggling to keep balanced, until he walks away, to the other side of the room.

" _Finite!_ " I mutter, pointing my wand at my legs. Once they have stopped wobbling, I turn to Hermione and say, "Jinx me again."

And fifteen minutes later, I manage to be able to both deflect jinxes from Hermione and send them right back to her without making any sort of noise - except for the occasional noise of frustration (though, I'm still going to have to practice a  _lot_ more).

Snape sweeps between them as we practice, looking as much as an overgrown bat as ever, lingering to watch Harry and Ron. Ron, who is supposed to be jinxing Harry, is purple in the face, his lips tightly pressed together to rid himself of the temptation to whisper the incantation. Harry has his wand raised, waiting to repel a jinx that seems unlikely to ever come.

"Pathetic, Weasley," Snape says after a while. "Here - let me show you - "

He turns his wand very quickly on Harry, who raises his own wand instinctively, yelling, " _Protego!_ "

His Shield Charm is so powerful that Snape is knocked off-balance and hits a desk. The whole class has looked around as Snape rights himself, scowling.

"Do you remember me telling you that we're practising nonverbal spells, Potter?"

"Yes," Harry replies stiffly.

"Yes,  _sir,_ " Snape corrects.

"There's no need to call me 'sir', Professor," Harry blurts out.

Several people gasp, including Hermione, while Ron, Dean, and Seamus grin at him appreciatively behind Snape's back. I bring a hand to my mouth, both from surprise and to keep myself from laughing out loud.

"Detention, Saturday night, my office," Snape says. "I do not take cheek from anyone, Potter... not even the 'Chosen One.'"

"That was brilliant, Harry!" Ron chortles, once we're safely on our way to break a while later.

"You really shouldn't have done it," Hermione says, frowning at Ron. "What made you?"

"He tried to jinx me, in case you didn't notice!" fumes Harry. "I had enough of those during Occlumency lessons. Why doesn't he use another guinea pig for a change? What's Dumbledore playing at, anyway, letting his teach Defence? Did you hear him talking about the Dark Arts? He loves them! All that unfixed, indestructible stuff - "

"Well," Hermione says, "I thought he sounded a bit like you."

"Like me?"

"Yes, when you were telling us what it's like to face Voldemort. You said it wasn't just about memorising a bunch of spells, you said it was just you and your brains and your guts - well, wasn't that what Snape was saying? That it really comes down to being brave and quick-thinking?"

"Harry! Hey, Harry!"

We look around to find Jack Sloper, one of the Beaters on the Gryffindor team last year, is hurrying towards us, holding a roll of parchment.

"For you," Sloper pants. "Listen, I heard you're the new Captain. When're you holding trials?"

"I'm not sure yet," Harry replies. "I'l let you know."

"Oh, right. I was hoping it'd be this weekend - "

But Harry, it seems, is not listening. Leaving Sloper mid-sentence, he hurries away, unrolling the parchment as he goes. I shoot Sloper a half amused, half apologetic glance, before turning around and catching up with Harry, Ron, and Hermione. I read the note over Harry's shoulder.

 

_Dear Harry,_

_I would like to start our private lessons this Saturday. Kindly come along to my office at 8 P.M. I hope you are enjoying your first day back at school._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

_P.S. I enjoy Acid Pops._

 

"He enjoys Acid Pops," repeats Ron, who has also read the note over Harry's shoulder and looks confused.

"It's the password to get past the gargoyle outside his study," Harry says in a low voice. "Ha! Snape's not going to be pleased... I won't be able to do his detention!"

He, Ron, Hermione, and I spend the entire break speculating what Dumbledore would teach Harry on their first lesson. Ron thinks that it's bound to be spectacular jinxes and hexes that the Death Eaters do not know, but Hermione and I point out that such spells are probably illegal and it's much more likely that Dumbledore will be showing him advanced Defensive magic.

After break, Hermione heads for Arithmancy, while Harry, Ron, and I return to the common room to start Snape's homework, which is so complicated that we have not finished even after Hermione returns from Arithmancy (though, I might have been closer if I didn't have to keep stopping to help Harry and Ron, and Hermione speeds up the process considerably when she arrives). We have only just finished when the bell rings for the afternoon's double Potions and we walk down the familiar path to the dungeon classroom that had for so long been Snape's.

When we arrive in the corridor we see that only a dozen people are progressing to the NEWT level. Crabbe and Goyle have evidently failed to achieve the required OWL grade, but five other Slytherins have made it through, including Malfoy. Five Ravenclaws are there, and one Hufflepuff, Ernie MacMillan, whom I like despite his pompous nature.

"Harry," Ernie says, extending his hand as Harry approaches, "didn't get a chance to speak to you in Defence Against the Dark Arts this morning. Good lesson, I thought, but Shield Charms are a bit old, of course, for us old DA lags... and how are you, Ron - Hermione - Hazel?"

Before we can say anything more than that we're fine, the dungeon door opens and Slughorn walks out the door. As we file inside the room, his great walrus moustache curves around his beaming mouth, and he greets Harry, Zabini, and I with particular enthusiasm.

The dungeon is, most unusually, already full of vapours and odd smells. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I sniff interestedly as we pass large, bubbling cauldrons. The five Slytherins take a table together, as do the five Ravenclaws, so Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I share a table with Ernie.

We chose a table nearest a gold-coloured cauldron that is emitting the best and by far most seductive scent I've ever inhaled; it smells the way it does after it rains, but it also smells like the woody smell of a broomstick handle - a newer broom, specifically - and it also smells like freshly baked cookies, the kind that Mrs. Weasley makes, and at the same time, it smells - and I jump as I recognise this particular scent - like mint, dark berries, and faintly like sweets. I look round at the cauldron, frowning slightly, wondering what it is, why it smells like all of my favourite scents, and why Fred is included in that.

"Now then, now then," Slughorn says, and I snap out of my stupor (in spite of my confusion, I couldn't help but be rather entranced by the potion), to look at him, his massive outline quivering through the many shimmer vapours. "Scales out, everyone, and potion kits, and don't forget your copies of  _Advanced Potion-Making..._ "

"Sir?" Harry says, raising his hand.

"Harry, m'boy?"

"I haven't got a book or a set of scales or anything - nor does Ron - we didn't realise we'd be able to do the NEWT, you see - "

"Ah, yes, Professor McGonagall did mention... not to worry, my dear boy, not to worry at all. You can use ingredients from the store cupboard today, and I'm sure we can lend you some scales, and we've got a small stock of old books here, they'll do until you can write to Flourish and Blotts..."

Slughorn strides over to a corner cupboard and, after a moment of foraging, emerges with two very battered copies of  _Advanced Potion-Making_ , which he gives to Harry and Ron along with two sets of tarnished scales.

"Now then," Slughorn repeats, returning to the front of the class, "I've prepared a few potions for you to have a look at, just out of interest, you know. These are the kind of things you ought to be able to make after you complete your NEWTs. You ought to have heard of 'em, even if you haven't made 'em yet. Anyone tell me what this one is?"

He indicates the cauldron nearest the Slytherin table. I sit up straight and see what looks like plain water boiling away inside the cauldron. Hermione's hand is in the air before anyone else's, and Slughorn points to her.

"It's Veritaserum, a colourless, odourless potion that forces the drinker to tell the truth."

"Very good, very good!" Slughorn says happily. "Now," he continues, pointing at the cauldron nearest the Ravenclaws, "this one here is pretty well known... featured in a few Ministry leaflets lately, too. Who can - ?"

Hermione's hand is the fastest once more.

"It's Polyjuice Potion, sir."

Indeed, the slow-bubbling, mud-like substance in the second cauldron is Polyjuice Potion, which Hermione had made in our second year and she, Harry, Ron, and I had each drank.

"Excellent, excellent! Now, this one here... yes, my dear?" Slughorn says, now looking slightly bemused as Hermione's hand punches the air again.

"It's Amortentia!"

"It is indeed. It seems almost foolish to ask," Slughorn says, looking mightily impressed, "but I assume you know what it does?"

"It's the most powerful love potion in the world!" Hermione says, and I look at the potion again momentarily, frowning slightly.

"Quite right! You recognised it, I suppose, by its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen?"

"And the steam rising up in characteristic spirals," Hermione replies enthusiastically, "and it's supposed to smell differently according to what attracts us, and I can smell freshly mown grass and new parchment and - "

But she turns slightly pink and does not finish her sentence.

"May I ask your name, my dear?" Slughorn says, either ignoring or not noticing Hermione's embarrassment.

"Hermione Granger, sir."

"Granger? Granger? Could you possibly be related to Hector Dagworth-Granger, who founded the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?"

"No, I don't think so, sir. I'm Muggle-born, you see."

I see Malfoy lean close to Nott and whisper something; both of them snigger, but Slughorn shows no dismay. On the contrary, he beams at her, looking from Hermione to Harry, who is sitting next to her.

"Oho! 'One of my best friends is Muggle-born, and she's the best in our year!' I'm assuming this is the friend you spoke of, Harry?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replies.

"Well, well, take twenty well-earned points for Gryffindor, Miss Granger," Slughorn says genially, and Malfoy looks the same way he did when Hermione punched him in the face.

Hermione turns to Harry with a radiant expression and whispers, "Did you really tell him I'm the best in the year? Oh, Harry!"

"Well, what's so impressive about that?" Ron whispers, looking annoyed. "You are the best in the year - I'd've told him so if he asked me!"

Hermione smiles but makes a shushing gesture, so we can hear what Slughorn is saying. Ron looks slightly disgruntled, and I look at him oddly for a moment, before turning away to pay attention to Slughorn.

"Amortentia doesn't really make love, of course. It is impossible to manufacture or imitate love. No, this will simply cause a powerful infatuation or obsession. It is probably the most dangerous and powerful potion in this room - oh, yes," he nods gravely at Malfoy and Nott, both of whom are smirking sceptically. "When you have seen as much life as I have, you will not underestimate the power of obsessive love...

"And now," Slughorn continues, "it is time for us to start working."

"Sir, you haven't told us what's in this one," Ernie points out, gesturing towards a small black cauldron standing on Slughorn's desk. The potion within is splashing about merrily; it's the colour of molten gold, and large drops are leaping like goldfish above the surface, though not even a drop spills onto the desk.

"Oho," Slughorn says again, and I get the distinct impression that Slughorn has not forgotten this potion at all, but had waited for someone to ask for dramatic effect. "Yes. That. Well, that one, ladies and gentleman, is a curious little potion called Felix Felicis. I take it," he turns, smiling, to look at Hermione, who has let out a gasp, "that you know what Felix Felicis does, Miss Granger?"

"It's liquid luck!" Hermione replies excitedly. "It makes you lucky!"

The whole class seems to sit up a little straighter.

"Quite right, take another ten points for Gryffindor. Yes, it's a funny little potion, Felix Felicis," Slughorn says. "Desperately tricky to make, and disastrous to get wrong. However, if brewed correctly, as this has been, you will find that all your endeavours tend to succeed.. at least, until the effects wear off."

"Why don't people drink it all the time, then, sir?" Terry Boot asks eagerly.

"Because taken in excess, it causes giddiness, recklessness, and dangerous overconfidence," Slughorn replies. "Too much of a good thing, you know... highly toxic in large quantities. But taken sparingly, and very occasionally."

"Have you ever taken it, sir?" Michael Corner asks, sounding very interested.

"Twice in my life," Slughorn replies. "Once when I was twenty-four, and once when I was fifty-seven. Two tablespoonfuls taken with breakfast. Two perfect days..."

He gazes dreamily into the distance. Whether or not he's just acting or not, the effect is nice.

"And that," he says, apparently coming back to earth, "is why I shall be offering some as a prize in this lesson."

There is a silence in the room that makes every bubble and gurgle from the potions sound magnified.

"One tiny bottle of Felix Felicis," he says, taking out a tiny glass bottle with a cork in it out of his pocket and showing it to us all. "Enough for twelve hours' luck. From dawn 'til dusk, you will be lucky in everything you attempt. Now, I must warn you that Felix Felicis is a banned substance in organised competitions - sporting events, for instance - examinations, or elections. So the winner is to use it on an ordinary day only... and watch how that ordinary day becomes extraordinary!

"So," Slughorn continues, suddenly sounding brisk, "how are you to win this fabulous prize? Well, by turning to page ten of  _Advanced Potion-Making._ We have little over an hour left to us, which should be enough time to make a decent attempt at the Draught of Living Death. I know it is more complex than anything you have ever attempted before, and I do not expect a perfect potion from anybody. The person who does best, however, will win little Felix here. Off you go!"

There's a loud scraping as everyone draws their cauldrons towards them and some loud clunks as people begin adding weights to their scales, but nobody speaks. The level of concentration in the room is almost tangible. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Malfoy rifling feverishly through his copy of  _Advanced Potion-Making_ ; clearly, he really wants that lucky day. I focus on my own copy of the book, looking over all the ingredients I need and hastening to get them all out.

Everyone keeps glancing around to see what the rest of the class is doing. This is both an advantage and a disadvantage to Potions, that it's nearly impossible to keep your work private. Within ten minutes, the whole place is full of bluish steam. Hermione, of course, seems to have progressed the furthest. Her potion already resembles the 'smooth, black currant-coloured liquid' that is mentioned at the idea halfway stage.

Once I reach the halfway stage, I note that my potion is not quite that dark yet, and look between my cauldron and the textbook, trying to figure out where I went wrong. Then I realise that I didn't add quite enough of the Valerian root. After a moment of contemplation, I shrug slightly, and add the remaining root needed, knowing full well that the right ingredient at the wrong time can totally mess up a potion. I'm lucky, however, and the potion turns the correct colour almost immediately, causing me to let out a sigh of relief.

"Sir, I think you knew my grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy?" Malfoy's voice says, making me look up; Slughorn is just passing the Slytherin table.

"Yes," Slughorn says, without looking at Malfoy. "I was sorry to hear that he died, although of course it wasn't unexpected, dragon pox at his age..."

And he walks away. I turn back to my cauldron, focusing on my potion again, though a smirk crosses my face. I can tell that he had expected to receive some special treatment. Perhaps he had even hoped for the treatment that he had learned to expect from Snape, but no, it looks as though Malfoy has nothing to rely on but talent if he wants the bottle of Felix Felicis.

The Sopophorous bean is proving to be very difficult to cut up. It takes a very long time to do just that, and I keep glancing at the clock whenever I allow myself to take my concentration away from my potion.

As I continue with making the potion, I note that it's supposed to be a light shade of lilac, but my potion is still a deep purple colour. Again, I try to find out where I went wrong and how to fix it, when I hear Hermione's indignant voice sound from my right, causing me to look up once more.

"How are you doing that?" she demands, red in the face and her hair growing bushier and bushier from the fumes from her potion, which is as resolutely purple as mine.

I look to see that she's talking to Harry, and to my surprise, see that his potion is pale pink.

"Add a clockwise stir - "

"No, the book says counterclockwise!" Hermione snaps.

Harry just shrugs and goes back to what he's doing. I look hesitantly from Harry to Hermione, before going back to doing what the book is saying. After a while, however, I have to admit that whatever Harry's doing, it's working better than what the book's giving me, and add a clockwise stir. Immediately, my potion turns a lighter colour. I look at it in surprise for a moment, before grinning slightly and resuming.

I can't add more than one more clockwise stir before Slughorn's voice says, "And time's... up! Stop stirring, please!"

Slughorn moves slowly among the tables, peering into cauldrons. He makes no comment, but occasionally gives the potions a stir or a sniff. At last, he reaches the table where Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ernie, and I are sitting. He smiles ruefully at the tarlike substance in Ron's cauldron, passes over Ernie's navy concoction, give Hermione's potion an approving nod, and smiles and nods at mine. Then he looks at Harry's potion and a look of incredulous delight crosses his face.

"The clear winner!" Slughorn cries to the dungeon. "Excellent, excellent, Harry! Good lord, it's clear you've inherited your mother's talent! She was a dab hand at Potions, Lily was! Here you are, then, here you are - one bottle of Felix Felicis, as promised, and use it well!"

Harry slips the tiny bottle of golden liquid into his pocket. Hermione looks disappointed, while Ron just looks dumbfounded.

"How did you do that?" Ron whispers, as we leave the dungeon.

"Got lucky, I suppose," Harry replies, though I get the impression that he's lying.

And sure enough, once we're at the Gryffindor table for dinner, he tells us that he actually followed the instructions that the previous owner of his copy of  _Advanced Potion-Making_ had written down. Hermione's face becomes stonier with every word he says.

"I suppose you think I cheated," Harry finishes, nodding at Hermione.

"Well, it wasn't exactly your own work, was it?" she says stiffly.

"He did follow the instructions, though," I point out fairly. "They just... weren't the original instructions, that's all."

"Exactly," Ron agrees. "Could've been a catastrophe, couldn't he? But he took the risk and it paid off," he heaves a sigh. "Slughorn could've given me that book, but no, I got the one that no one's ever written on. Puked on, by the look of page fifty-two, but - "

"Hang on," says a voice, and we turn to see Ginny has joined us. "Did I hear right? You've been taking orders from something someone wrote in a book, Harry?"

She looks both alarmed and angry, and I know what she's thinking immediately.

"It's nothing," Harry says reassuringly, lowering his voice, clearly understanding what's on Ginny's mind, as well. "It's not like, you know, Riddle's diary. It's just some old textbook someone's scribbled on."

"But you're doing what it says?"

"I just tried a few tips written in the margins, honestly, Ginny, there's nothing funny - "

"Ginny's got a point," Hermione says, perking up at once. "We ought to check that there's nothing funny about it. I mean, all these funny instructions, who knows?"

"Hey!" Harry says indignantly, as she pulls out his copy of  _Advanced Potion-Making_ out of his bag and raises her wand. " _Specialis Revelio!_ " she says, rapping it smartly on the front cover. Nothing happens. The book simply lays there, looking old and dirty and dog-eared.

"Finished?" Harry says indignantly. "Or d'you want to wait and see if it does a few backflips?"

"It seems alright," Hermione says, still staring at the book suspiciously. "I mean, it really does seem to be... just a textbook."

"Good. Then I'll have it back," Harry says, snatching it back, but it falls to the floor.

As he goes to pick it up, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and I exchange looks, shrugging. Perhaps this time, everything is exactly what it seems. Though I can't help but wonder how many times the old owner of this book is going to be leading Harry in the right direction.

 

***

 

For the rest of the week's Potion lessons, Harry follows the instructions of the previous owner of the copy of his textbook (who Harry tells us was nicknamed the Half-Blood Prince) whenever it's different from the textbook's instructions, with the result that by our fourth lesson, Slughorn is positively raving about Harry's abilities, talking about how he has rarely taught someone so talented.

Neither Ron nor Hermione are delighted by this, while I simply tell Harry that he ought to look out, otherwise Slughorn will start calling him a prince. Although Harry has offered to share his book with both of them, Ron can hardly decipher the handwriting, and Harry can't keep reading the instructions out loud, otherwise it'll look funny. I can read the handwriting, but it's with extreme difficulty, and there's only so many times one can bend low over someone else's textbook when you have a perfectly good copy that belongs to you right in front of you. Hermione, meanwhile, is resolutely ploughing on with what the calls the 'official instructions,' though she becomes increasingly more bad-tempered when her results aren't as good as the Prince's.

I have to wonder who the Half-Blood Prince had been, and Harry himself is curious. He often skims through the pages of the textbook, and he finds that the Prince has made notes on every single page, not all of them concerning to Potions, as Harry points out to us on Saturday evening. Here and there are directions for what looks like spells that the Prince had invented.

"Or herself," Hermione says irritably. "This person might have been a girl. I think the handwriting looks more like a girl's than a boy's."

"The Half-Blood  _Prince_ , he was called," Harry retorts. "How many girls have been princes?"

Hermione seems to have no answer to this. She merely scowls and twitches her essay on The Principles of Rematerialization away from Ron, who is trying to read it upside down. I shake my head at the pair of them and continue working on the same essay.

"It's five to eight, I'd better go, I'll be late for Dumbledore," Harry says, standing up.

I look up immediately, feeling rather excited. I had forgotten that Harry was supposed to meet with Dumbledore for his first private lesson today.

"Oooh!" Hermione gasps, looking up at once. "Good luck! We'l wait up, we want to hear what he teaches you!"

"Hope it goes okay," Ron says, and the three of us watch Harry leave through the portrait hole.

Once he's gone, we spend some time debating what the lesson will be like, but soon stop and return to our work when we come up with no new ideas. No matter what Dumbledore ends up teaching Harry, though I'm glad for it, because his chances of defeating Lord Voldemort can't be too bad when he has got the most powerful wizard in the world helping him out.


	8. Confunded

**Distance Means Nothing**

**Chapter Eight: Confunded**

 

As Hermione had predicted, the sixth years' free periods are not hours of blissful relaxation like Ron had anticipated, but times to keep up with the vast amount of homework we are being set. Not only are we studying as though we have exams everyday, but the lessons themselves are more demanding than ever before. It's getting increasingly more difficult to understand what McGonagall is teaching us these days; even Hermione has had to raise her hand to ask her to repeat instructions once or twice before.

Nonverbal spells are now expected, not only in Defence Against the Dark Arts, but in Charms and Transfiguration, too. I frequently look over at some of my classmates in the common room or at mealtimes and see them purple in the face and straining, trying to make spells work without saying the incantation out loud. Herbology is a relief in this aspect; we are dealing with more dangerous plants than ever, but at least we are allowed to swear loudly if the Venomous Tentacula seizes us unexpectedly from behind.

One result of our enormous workload and frantic hours spent practising nonverbal spells is that Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I have so far been unable to find time to go and visit Hagrid. He has stopped coming to meals at the staff table, an ominous sign, and on the few occasions we have passed him in the corridors or out on the grounds, he has mysteriously failed to notice us or hear our greetings.

"We've got to go and explain," Hermione says, looking up at Hagrid's huge empty chair at the staff table the following Saturday at breakfast.

"We've got Quidditch tryouts this morning!" Ron protests. "And we're supposed to practice that Aguamenti Charm for Flitwick! Anyway, explain what? How are we supposed to tell him we hated his stupid subject?"

"We didn't hate it!" Hermione says.

"Speak for yourself, I haven't forgotten the Skrewts," Ron says darkly. "And I'm telling you now, we've had a narrow escape. You didn't hear him going on about his gormless brother - we'd have been teaching Grawp how to tie his shoelaces if we stayed."

Although he has a point, that we're probably much better off without Grawp in our lives, I miss Hagrid.

"Hermione's right, though," I insist, glancing up at Hagrid's empty chair, frowning slightly. "We've got to see him. I hate not talking to Hagrid."

"We'll go down after Quidditch," Harry assures me. "But the trials might take all morning, the number of people who applied. I dunno why the team's so popular all of a sudden."

"Oh, come on, Harry," Hermione says, suddenly impatient. "It's not Quidditch that's popular, it's you! You've never been more interesting, and frankly, you've never been more fanciable."

Ron gags on a large piece of kipper. Hermione looks at him in disdain for a moment, before turning back to Harry.

"Everyone knows you've been telling the truth now, don't they? The whole Wizarding world has to admit that you were right about Voldemort being back and that you really fought him twice in the last two years and escaped both times. And now they're calling you the 'Chosen One' - well, come on, can't you see why people are fascinated by you?"

Ignoring the embarrassed look on Harry's face, Hermione continues quite frankly.

"And you've been through all that persecution from the Ministry when they were trying to make you out as unstable and a liar. You can still see the marks on the back of your hand where that evil woman made you write with your own blood, but you stuck to your story anyway..."

"You can still see where those brains got hold of me in the Ministry, look," Ron says, shaking back his sleeves.

"And it doesn't hurt that you've grown about a foot over the summer, either," Hermione finishes, ignoring Ron.

"I'm tall," Ron points out. I stop smirking knowingly at Ron and turn to Harry.

"And let's not forget, you're Quidditch Captain now," I add. "That helps."

"Does it?" Ron grumbles, looking thoroughly put out.

"Of course," I say, surprised he'd have to ask but giving him a slightly sympathetic look all the same. "Oliver Wood," I say, ticking off a finger, "I'm quite certain the amount of admirers that boy had swooning after him is ten times bigger than the number of shots he's saved in his entire career as a Keeper. And Angelina... well, let's put it like this: remember that Hogsmeade trip that was on Valentine's Day? And how she scheduled that big practice the day of?" I say, and when they nod, I continue, "Well, just before it, she told Katie and I about how many blokes asked her out on a date that day, so now we reckon that half the reason she scheduled that practice was so that they couldn't ask her anymore."

The post owls arrive, swooping down through rain-flecked windows, scattering everyone with droplets of water. Most people are receiving more post than usual; anxious parents are keen to hear from their children and also deliver news that everything is fine at home. I haven't been receiving any letters from Remus, as is expected, since he is currently on a mission for the Order, trying to persuade werewolves to join our side. I have been keeping up with Fred and George, however, and Candy and I have each sent one letter to the other, which is a start.

Hedwig lands in front of Harry, carrying a large, square package. A moment later, an identical package lands in front of Ron, crushing beneath it his minuscule and exhausted owl, Pigwidgeon.

"Ha!" Hary says, unwrapping the parcel to reveal a new copy of  _Advanced Potion-Making_ , fresh from Flourish and Blotts.

"Oh, good!" Hermione says, delighted. "Now you can give that graffitied copy back."

"Are you mad? I'm keeping it! Look, I've thought it out," Harry says, pulls the old copy of  _Advanced Potion-Making_ out of his bag, taps the cover with his wand, and says, " _Diffindo!_ "

The cover falls off. He does the same thing with the brand new book, causing Hermione to look scandalised. He then swaps the covers, taps each, and says, " _Reparo!_ " so that the Prince's copy sits disguised as a new book, and the fresh copy from Flourish and Blotts sits, looking thoroughly secondhand.

"I'll give Slughorn the new one back, he can't complain, it cost nine Galleons."

Hermione presses her lips together, looking angry and disapproving, but is distracted by a third owl landing in front of her, carrying the day's  _Daily Prophet_. She unfolds it hastily and scans the front page.

"Anyone we know dead?" Ron asks in a determinedly casual voice, posing the same question he does every time Hermione opens the paper.

"No, but there have been more Dementor attacks," Hermione replies. "And an arrest."

"Excellent, who?" Harry asks.

"Stan Shunpike."

"Wait - what?" Harry says, startled.

"Stanley Shunpike, conductor of the popular Wizarding conveyance, the Knight Bus, has been arrested on suspicion of Death Eater activity. Mr. Shunpike, twenty-one, was taken into custody late last night after a raid of his Clapham home..."

"Stan Shunpike, a Death Eater?" I say, remembering the spotty youth I had met last year. "There's no way!"

"He might have been put under the Imperius Curse," Ron says reasonably. "You can never tell."

"It doesn't look like it. It says here he was arrested after he was overheard talking about the Death Eaters' secret plans in a pub," Hermione says. She looks up at us from her magazine with a troubled expression on her face. "If he was under the Imperius Curse, he'd hardly stand around gossiping about their plans, would he?"

"It sounds like he was trying to make it seem like he knew more than he did," Ron says. "Isn't he the one who claimed he was going to become Minister for Magic when he was chatting up those veela?"

"Yeah, that's him," Harry confirms. "I dunno what they're playing at, taking Stan seriously."

"They want to make it seem like they're doing something," I state matter-of-factly, remembering what Mr. Weasley had told me in the summer. "Want to make it seem like they have the situation more under control than they actually do. At least, that's what your dad told me, Ron, and it makes a lot of sense, after going to Diagon Alley and being back here. People are terrified - did you know the Patil twins' parents want them to go home? And Eloise Midgen has already left. Her dad came and picked her up last night."

"What?" Ron says, goggling at me. "But Hogwarts is safer than their homes, bound to be! We've got Aurors, and all those extra protective spells, and we've got Dumbledore!"

"We haven't got him all the time," I say quietly, glancing towards the staff table, where Dumbledore is currently absent. "Haven't you noticed? His seat's been as empty as Hagrid's this past week." When they all look to the staff table, I go on, rather thoughtfully, "I think he's gone somewhere to do something for the Order... must have, really. It's... well, it's all looking very serious, isn't it?"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione do not answer, but I can tell we're all thinking the same thing. The day before, Hannah Abbott had been taken out of Herbology to be informed that her mother had been found dead. None of us have seen Hannah since.

When we leave the Gryffindor table five minutes later to head down to the Quidditch pitch, we pass Lavender and Parvati, and, when Ron draws level with them, Parvati nudges Lavender, who turns around to give Ron a wide smile. Ron blinks at her, then returns the smile uncertainly. His walk instantly turns into something more like a strut, and it's with great difficulty that I do not laugh; Hermione, however, looks cold and distant all the way down to the stadium, and departs to find a place in the stands without wishing Ron good luck - which is made worse when she wishes  _me_ good luck.

The trials end up taking most of the morning. Half of Gryffindor house seems to have turned up, ranging from first years who are nervously clutching a selection of the dreadful old school brooms, to seventh years who tower over the rest, looking coolly intimidating. The latter includes a wiry-haired boy that I recognise from the Hogwarts Express. After a moment, I recognise him as Cormac McLaggen, who I had met when I attended lunch in Slughorn's compartment.

The amount of people who have showed up to try-out makes me nervous; after all, the last time I had tried out for the team, any competition I might have had weren't right in front of me, trying to stare me down. I try to shake off my nervousness, though, by reminding myself repeatedly that three years of playing has not done nothing for my skills.

 _You're a good Chaser,_ I remind myself, determinedly and sternly.  _You'll do fine._

Harry decides to start with a basic test, asking all applicants to divide into groups of ten and fly once around the pitch. This immediately proves to be a very good decision. The first team is made up of first years, and it cannot be plainer that none of them have ever flown before. Only one of them manages to stay airborne for more than a few seconds, and he gets so surprised by it that he crashes into one of the goalposts.

The second group consists of ten girls who, when Harry blows his whistle, simply fall about giggling and clutching one another. I recognise Romilda Vane amongst them. When Harry asks them to leave the pitch, they do so quite cheerfully, going to sit in the stands to heckle everyone else.

The third group has a pile-up halfway along the pitch. Most of the fourth group have shown up without broomsticks. The fifth groups are Hufflepuffs.

"If there's anyone else here that's  _not_ from Gryffindor," Harry begins in annoyance, "please leave now!"

There's a short pause, then a couple of little Ravenclaws go sprinting off the pitch, snorting with laughter.

After two hours, many complaints, and several tantrums (one involving a crashed Comet Two Sixty and several broken teeth), one particularly good thing comes out of the try-out: I secury my place on the team as Chaser once more, having managed to play nicely in spite of my nerves. Katie Bell also returns to the team, and Ginny rejoins the team as Chaser this time.

Neither of the new Beaters have the same level of skill as Fred and George, but that's something I've come to accept, because it's hard to compete with Fred and George when they're like human Bludgers themselves. Regardless, they're still pretty good Beaters. There's Jimmy Peakes, a short but broad-chested third year boy who manages to hit Harry ferociously in the back of the head with a Bludger, and Demelza Robins, who has a smaller frame for a Beater, but can hit very hard and aim very well.

I had been hoping that, since Harry was clearly leaving the trial for Keepers for last, that the crowd would be smaller and there would be less pressure to endure, considering Ron's...  _problems_ in terms of confidence, but all the rejected players have decided to stick around to watch, along with students who had just enjoyed a lengthy breakfast and decided to have a look for themselves. When I realise this, I start to hope that perhaps winning our last match last term might have helped Ron's confidence, but then look over at Ron and see that his face has turned a delicate shade of green.

Just before Harry starts calling out names, I go over to stand beside him.

"So... you nervous?" I say, trying to sound off-hand.

He looks over at me in disbelief, before choking out sarcastically, "No, Hazel, not at all. Where'd you get that idea?"

"Right, right, I'm sorry, that was stupid of me," I apologise, putting my hands up in surrender. "But you really shouldn't worry, Ron, you'll do fine. You were on the team last year, weren't you?"

"Yeah, and what good did that do?" Ron snorts.

"A lot, actually, considering we won the Cup," I say, with a touch of impatience. "You're the one who helped us win. None of the rest of them did that. It was all you, mate."

"Yeah," Ron says slowly, then straightens up slightly. "Yeah... yeah, you're right.."

"Always am," I say, grinning, grateful that his face is even slightly less green.

None of the first five applicants save more than two penalties apiece. I've just started to think that maybe Ron won't have to save anymore than three penalties and his position on the team will be secured, when McLaggen disappoints me greatly by saving four of the five shots. On the fifth one, he shoots off in the completely wrong direction, making the crowd laugh and boo and McLaggen return to the ground grinding his teeth. I look around briefly at the stands as he goes, and see Hermione looking pleased with herself and shoving something in her pocket.

"Good luck!" a voice from the stands cries as Ron mounts his Cleansweep Eleven, and I look around, expecting it to be Hermione but finding instead Lavender, who buries her head in her hands a moment later.

Ron proves that I needn't have worried, because he saves all five penalties. Unable to help myself, I cheer with the rest of the delighted crowd, walking beside him once we've returned to the ground.

"Well done, Ron!" I say cheerfully, grinning up at him. "See, told you you'd do fine!"

He grins at me and thanks me, before hurrying back to the rest of the team who are surrounding Harry. In front of Harry is McLaggen, red-faced with a vein pulsing in his temple.

"Someone's not happy they didn't make the team," I mutter.

As we draw level with the team and McLaggen, we hear the latter say, "She gave him an easy save."

"Rubbish," Harry says coldly. "That was the one he nearly missed."

McLagen takes a step closer to Harry.

"Give me another go."

"No," Harry says firmly. "You had your go. You saved four. Ron saved five. Ron's Keeper, he won it fair and square. Get out of my way."

For a split second, it looks as though McLaggen is going to punch Harry, but in the end he just contents himself with a grimace and storming away, grumbling what sounds like threats to thin air. Harry turns to find the rest of the team beaming at him.

"Well done," he croaks. "You flew really well - "

"You did brilliantly, Ron!"

Hermione is running towards us from the stands. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lavender walking off the pitch, arm in arm with Parvati, with a rather grumpy expression on her face. Ron looks extremely pleased with himself and even taller than usual as he beams at the rest of the team and Hermione.

After fixing the time of our first practice the following Thursday, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I bid the rest of the team goodbye and head off towards Hagrid's - but first, I ask Hermione if I could talk to her privately and drag her away out of earshot before she can provide me with an answer.

"What is it?" she asks me.

"I just wanted to talk to you about.. well, McLaggen's trial," I reply and she shifts around slightly uncomfortably. "It's just curious, isn't it? I mean, he saved those first four penalties perfectly, and then on the fifth one he was just way off. Odd, isn't it?"

"I suppose so," Hermione replies uncomfortably. "But I guess you can't save everything, right?"

"Right, right," I muse, my lips quivering upwards into a smile. "It's just so weird.. it's almost like he was Confunded, you know?"

"Well - well, I don't know who would do something like that - "

"And you know what?" I continue, now grinning in spite of myself. "Right around the time he was walking off the pitch, I looked around at the stands and I saw you looking awfully pleased with yourself and putting away something that looked suspiciously like a wand."

"What are you saying?" Hermione asks defensively.

"You know exactly what I'm saying," I reply.

There's a moment of silence, before she bursts out, "Oh, alright, fine, I did it. But you should've heard the way he was talking about Ron and Ginny! Anyway, he's got a nasty temper, you saw how he reached when he didn't get in - you don't want someone like that on the team, do you? Ron's much better suited, isn't he?"

"Yes," I agree, "yes, you're right. At least Ron gets on well with the team, and either way, he saved all five penalties. But wasn't that dishonest, Hermione? I mean, you're a prefect, aren't you? Just think what Professor McGonagall would say if she found out. I just shudder to think, really - "

"Oh, shut up," she grumbles, and I let out a laugh.

"Oi! Are you two finished, or what?" Ron's voice calls.

"Yeah, we're coming!" I call back, and we start walking back towards Harry and Ron.

"Oh, please don't tell Ron, Hazel!" Hermione pleads in a whisper.

"Don't worry, I won't," I reassure her. "Besides, you wouldn't want him to  _report_ you or anything - "

"You are the  _worst,_ " she hisses, blushing slightly, and I laugh again.

"What were you two talking about?" Ron asks us perplexedly, as we set off for Hagrid's.

Hermione and I exchange looks, before saying in unison, "Nothing."

A watery sun is trying to break through the clouds and it has stopped drizzling at last.

"I thought I was going to miss that fourth penalty," Ron is saying happily. "Tricky shot from Katie, did you see, had a bit of a spin on it - "

"Yes, yes, you were magnificent," Hermione says, amused.

"I was better than McLagen, anyway," Ron says in a highly satisfied voice. "Did you see him lumbering off in the wrong direction on his fifth? Looks like he'd been Confunded..."

Hermione turns a deep shade of pink at these words, and I actually bite down on my lower lip to keep a laugh from escaping my lips. Ron doesn't notice, though; he's too busy describing each of his penalties in loving detail.

The great grey Hippogriff, Buckbeak, is tethered to the front of Hagrid's cabin. He clicks his razor-sharp beak as we approach and turns his huge head towards us.

"Oh, dear," Hermione says nervously. "He's still a bit scary, isn't he?"

"Come off it, you've ridden him, haven't you? Just don't pull a Malfoy and you'll be fine," I say, stepping forward and bowing low to the Hippogriff without breaking eye contact in any way. After a few seconds, Buckbeak sinks into a bow, too.

"How are you?" Harry asks him in a low voice, moving forward to stroke the feathery head. "Missing him? But you're okay here with Hagrid, aren't you?"

"Oi!" says a loud voice.

Hagrid has come striding around the corner of his cabin wearing a large flowery apron and carrying a sack of potatoes. His enormous boarhound, Fang, is at his heels. Fang gives a booming bark and bounds forward.

"Get away from him! He'll have yer fingers - oh. It's yeh lot."

Fang is jumping up at Ron and Hermione, attempting to lick their ears. Hagrid stares at us for a second, then turns and strides into his cabin, slamming the door behind him.

"Oh, dear!" Hermione says, looking stricken.

"Don't worry about it," Harry says grimly. He walks over to the door and knocks loudly. "Hagrid! Open up, we want to talk to you!"

There is no reply from the other side.

"If you don't open the door, we'll blast it open!" Harry warns, pulling out his wand.

"Harry!" Hermione says, sounding shocked. "You can't possibly - "

"Yeah, I can," Harry says. "Stand back - "

But before he can say anything else, the door flies open and there stands Hagrid, glowering down at him and looking, in spite of the apron, positively alarming.

"I'm a teacher!" he roars at Harry. "A teacher, Potter! How dare yeh threaten to break down my door!"

"I'm sorry,  _sir_ ," Harry replies, emphasising the last word as he puts his wand back in his pocket.

Hagrid looks momentarily stunned.

"Since when have yeh called me 'sir'?"

"Since when have you called me 'Potter'?"

"Oh, very clever," Hagrid growls. "Very amusin. That's me outsmarted, innit? Alrigh', then, come in, yeh ungrateful little..."

Mumbling darkly, he stands back to let us pass.

"Well?" Hagrid says grumpily, as we sit down around his enormous wooden table, Fang lying his head immediately on Harry's knees and drooling all over his robes. "What's this? Feelin' sorry for me? Reckon I'm lonely or summat?"

"No," Harry says at once. "We wanted to see you."

"We've missed you!" Hermione adds tremulously.

"Missed me, have yeh?" Hagrid snorts. "Yeah. Righ'."

He stomps around, brewing up tea in his huge copper kettle, muttering all the while. Finally, he slams down four bucket-sized mugs of mahogany-brown tea in front of us and a place of rock cakes.

"Hagrid," Hermione says timidly, when he joins us at the table and starts peeling potatoes with a brutality that suggests that each one had done him a great personal wrong, "we really wanted to continue with Care of Magical Creatures, you know."

Hagrid gives another snort, and I think that I've seen some bogeys land on the potatoes and take a moment to be grateful that we're not staying for dinner.

"We did!" Hermione insists. "But none of us could fit it into our schedules!"

"Yeah. Righ'." Hagrid repeats.

There's a funny squelching noise and we al turn around. Hermione lets out a tiny shriek, and Ron leaps out of his seat and hurries around the table away from the large barrel standing in the corner that we've only just noticed. It's full of what looks like foot-long maggots, slimy, white, and writing.

"What are they, Hagrid?" I ask, trying to sound and look more interested than revolted, but my question still comes out as a horrified gasp.

"Jus' giant grubs."

"And they grow into...?" Ron says, looking apprehensive.

"They won't grow inter nothin'," Hagrid replies. "I got 'em ter feed Aragog."

Then, without warning, he bursts into tears.

"Hagrid!" Hermione cries, leaping to her fet, taking the long way around the table to avoid going near the maggots, and putting an arm around his shaking shoulders. "What is it?"

"It's... him..." Hagrid gulps, his beetle-black eyes streaming as he wipes his face with his apron. "It's... Aragog... I think he's dyin'... he got ill over the summer an' he's not gettin' any better... I don' know what I'll do if he... we've been tergether fer so long..."

Hermione pats Hagrid's shoulder, looking at a complete loss for anything to say. I know how she feels. I have known Hagrid to present a vicious baby dragon with a teddy bear, seen him croon over giant scorpions with suckers and stingers, known him to attempt to reason with his brutal giant of a half-brother, but this is perhaps the most unbelievable of all his monster fancies. The gigantic talking spider, Aragog, who dwells deep in the Forbidden Forest and which Harry, Ron, and I had narrowly escaped four years ago.

"Is there - is there anything we can do?" Hermione asks tentatively, ignoring Ron's frantic grimaces and head-shakings.

"I don' think there is, Hermione," chokes Hagrid, attempting to stem his flow of tears, and though I do feel bad for Hagrid, I have to feel inwardly grateful that there won't be anymore encounters with Aragog. "See, the rest o' the tribe... Aragog's family... they're gettin' a bit funny now that he's ill... bit restive..."

"Yeah, I think we saw that side of them," Ron says in an undertone.

"I don' reckon it's safe for me to go near the colony at the mo'," Hagrid finishes, blowing his nose hard on his apron and looking up. "But thanks fer offerin', Hermione... it means a lot...

After that, the atmosphere lightens considerably, for although Harry, Ron, and I didn't show any inclination to go feed grubs to a giant, murderous spider, Hagrid seems to have taken it for granter that we would've liked to have done and becomes his usual self once more.

"I always knew yeh'd find it hard to squeeze me inter yer timetables," he says gruffly, pouring us more tea. "Even if yeh applied fer Time-Turners - "

"We can't have done," Hermione states. "We smashed the entire stock of Ministry Time-Turners when we were there last summer. It was in the  _Daily Prophet_."

"Ah, well then," Hagrid says. "There's no way yeh could've done it, then... I'm sorry I've been - yeh know - I've just been worried abou' Aragog... an' I did wonder whether, if Professor Grubbly-Plank had been teachin' yeh - "

At this point, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I all insist earnestly and untruthfully that Professor Grubbly-Plank is an absolutely dreadful teacher, so that by the time Hagrid waves us away at dusk, he looks quite cheerful.

"I'm starving," Harry states, once the door has closed behind us and we're hurrying through the dark and deserted grounds. "And I've got that detention with Snape tonight, I haven't got that much time for dinner..."

As we come into the castle we see Cormac McLaggen entering the Great Hall. It takes him two attempts to get through the doors; he ricochets off the frame on the first attempt. Ron laughs gloatingly, striding into the Hall after him, and I follow behind in his wake, smiling and shaking my head.

After we take a few steps toward the Gryffindor table, we realise Harry and Hermione are no longer with us. We walk back to the doorway to the Great Hall and see that they're still in the Entrance Hall, Harry smirking and Hermione blushing.

"What are you two doing?" Ron demands, looking suspicious. Something tells me that he's thinking of how Hermione talked about how fanciable Harry is.

"Nothing," Harry and Hermione say in unison, hurrying into the Great Hall, and I realise that Harry has too realised that Hermione had Confunded McLaggen.

We've barely taken three steps towards the Gryffindor table, when Slughorn appears just in front of us, blocking our path.

"Harry, Harry, just the man I was hoping to see!" he booms genially. "I was hoping to catch you before dinner! What do you say to a spot of supper tonight in my rooms instead? We're having a little party, just a few rising stars, I've got McLaggen coming and Zabini, the charming Melinda Bobbin - I don't know whether you know her? Her family owns a large chain of apothecaries - and, of course, I hope very much that Miss Knight and Miss Granger will favour me by coming, too."

Slughorn makes a little bow towards Hermione and I as he finishes speaking. It's as though Ron isn't even here, for Slughorn does not even look at him.

"I can't come, Professor," Harry replies immediately. "I've got detention with Professor Snape."

"Oh, dear!" Slughorn says, his face falling comically. "Dear, dear, I was counting on you, Harry! Well, now, I'll just have a word with Severus and explain the situation. I'm sure I'll be able to persuade him to postpone your detention. Yes, I'll see all three of you later!"

He bustles away out of the Hall.

"He's got no chance of persuading Snape," Harry says, saying what I'm thinking the moment Slughorn is out of earshot. "This detention's already been postponed once; Snape did it for Dumbledore, but he won't do it for anyone else."

"I wish you could come, it'll be more bearable with more people I like," Hermione says, and I can tell she's thinking of McLaggen.

"I doubt you two'll be alone, I bet Ginny'll be invited," Ron snaps, seeming not to have taken kindly to being completely ignored by Slughorn.

After dinner, we make our way back to Gryffindor tower. The common room is very crowded, as most people have finished dinner by now, but we manage to find a free table and sit down. Ron, who has been in a bad mood ever since the encounter with Slughorn, crosses his arms and frowns at the ceiling. Hermione reaches forward and grabs a copy of the  _Evening Prophet_ , which somebody had abandoned on one of the chairs.

"Anything new?" I ask, as she opens the newspaper and scans the pages.

"Not really... oh, look, your dad's in here, Ron - he's alright!" she adds quickly, for Ron had looked around in alarm. "It just says he's been to visit the Malfoy house. 'This second search of the Death Eaters' residence does not seem to have yielded any results. Arthur Weasley of the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects said that his team had been acting upon a confidential tip-off."

"Yeah, mine!" Harry says. "I told him at King's Cross about Malfoy and that thing he was trying to get Borgin to fix! Well, if it's not at their house, he must have brought whatever it is to Hogwarts with him - "

"But how can he have done?" Hermione says, putting down the newspaper with a surprised look. "We were all searched when we arrived, weren't we?"

"Were you?" Harry says, taken aback. "I wasn't."

"Oh, no, of course you weren't, I forgot you were late... well, Filch ran us all over with Secrecy Sensors when we got into the Entrance Hall. Any Dark object would have been found, I know for a fact Crabbe had a shrunken head confiscated. So, you see, Malfoy can't have brought in anything dangerous!"

"Someone sent it to him by owl, then," Harry retorts, after a moment of hesitation. "His mother or someone."

"All the owls are being checked, too," Hermione says. "Filch told us when he was jabbing us with those Secrecy Sensors anywhere he could reach."

Looking even more stumped, he says nothing else. He looks over at Ron, looking hopeful that he'll have any explanation for it, but Ron is simply staring across the common room at Lavender Brown, arms folded again.

"Can you think of anyway Malfoy - "

"Oh, drop it, Harry," Ron snaps.

"Listen, it's not my fault Slughorn invited Hazel, Hermione, and me to his stupid dinner party, none of us wanted to go, you know!" Harry says, firing up.

"Well, as I'm not invited to any parties," Ron says, getting to his feet. "I think I'll go to bed."

He stomps off towards the door of the boys' dormitories, leaving Harry, Hermione, and I staring after him.

"Harry?" the new Beater, Demelza Robins, appears suddenly at his shoulder. "I've got a message for you."

"From Professor Slughorn?" Harry asks hopefully.

"No... from Professor Snape," Demelza replies. "He says you're to come to his office at half-past eight tonight to do your detention - er - no matter how many party invitations you've received. And he wanted you to know you'll be sorting out rotten Flobberworms from good ones to use in Potions - and he says there's no need to bring protective gloves."

I wince slightly. I know detentions like this all too well.

"Right," Harry says grimly. "Thanks, Demelza."


	9. The Necklace

**Distance Means Nothing**

**Chapter Nine: The Necklace**

 

The next morning, after an exceedingly boring and uncomfortable dinner party with Slughorn that was only made bearable by the presence of Hermione and Ginny, I decide to finally get around to opening and answering my most recent letter from Fred, since due to the large amount of homework I've been receiving, and then Quidditch trials and visiting Hagrid and Slughorn's dinner party the previous day, I haven't had time to do it.

After breakfast, I hurry back up to my dormitory and retrieve the letter from inside my trunk, practically ripping it open and reading the letter eagerly without further ado. Let's just say that I had been missing Fred even more than usual lately, so a latter from him is almost like a gift to me, even though I'd much rather see him and talk to him in person.

 

_Dear Hazel,_

_You know, with all of your comments about me being a git, it's becoming painfully obvious to me that you're actually secretly obsessed with me. Honestly, I can't say I'm surprised. I am very lovable, not many people can resist - especially not you, to my knowledge._

_The shop's doing well, too. It's a bit slower, since the holidays are over, so people are cooped up in school and can't visit, but we're getting loads of order forms, so it's alright. It'd be a bit better if you were here, though. You make things a lot less boring. George is still trying to win Angelina over, but he's not getting very good results. Apparently he's getting there, though, but he's also been telling me that for over a month, so I'm starting to wonder if I should be believing him. Merlin, Knight, were we this bad?_

_Anyway, how's Hogwarts? I've heard they've upped the security by about a hundred, with Aurors and everything. I'm not surprised and I'm pretty relieved if that's true, considering everything that's been happening. It's good to hear that you and the others are in good hands. I've also heard they've made Snape the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, in which case, I feel extremely sorry for you and anyone who has to deal with him. It makes me glad that I got out when I did. Snape as a Potions teacher was one thing, but him as a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher is probably more than a normal human can bear. I've heard Horace Slughorn's replaced him as Potions teacher. I've heard Mum and Dad talk about him, and, well... I haven't got the best reviews. You'll have to tell me about that._

_I hope you're doing well, with all the busy bullshit that comes with being a NEWT student - and you better not be staying up late or skipping meals, either. Or I'll hire someone to make sure you attend every meal and sleep at a decent time._

_Your favourite person in the world (probably),_

_Fred_

 

Once I finish reading, I spend several moments just looking at the parchment, before re-reading the letter. After finishing my second reading of it, it registers in my mind that I'm smiling from ear to ear.

"Fred," I say under my breath, sighing contentedly.

I hasten to start writing my reply, getting a quill, before collecting my thoughts and starting to write.

 

_Dear Fred,_

_As much as it will pain you to learn, I am not obsessed with you, and I very well can resist you. I just choose not to, that's all. Not resisting you can make life more interesting - but then again, so can resisting you, so maybe I'll start doing that, who knows?_

_I'm glad to hear the shop's doing well, though I'm rather surprised to hear that I'd made it more interesting. Now who has trouble resisting who? Yes, I've heard George is having a bit of... trouble in the romance department, poor bloke. I do think that Angelina likes him, though, even if it's only a little bit, because whenever she talked about him... I don't know, it just seemed like she did, even if it's just a tiny bit. I've heard we were even worse, which makes me feel very sorry to anyone who had to deal with us._

_Hogwarts is good so far. Everything you've heard is right. Snape teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts is shit, but I wasn't expecting much, considering it's my least favourite teacher teaching my favourite subject, but I'm managing. As for Slughorn... well, he's not my favourite teacher ever, but I suppose there's been worse. He's really biased, though, really likes to take playing favourites to the next level. He's taken a liking to me, Hermione, Ginny, and Harry (not that anybody's surprised about that one). He invited us to a dinner party just last night. Let's just say I've been to better events. Besides that, though, everything's alright, though I really do miss you. Things are terribly boring without you, George, and Lee, even if you are all giant gits._

_I'm afraid how much sleep I get or how many meals I attend is not your business, Weasley, and it is therefore something that you may never find out. Sucks for you, doesn't it? All this schoolwork is really difficult, though._

_Someone who thinks you might not want to be so cocky,_

_Hazel_

 

I read through the letter a few times, before deciding that I'm satisfied with it, and hurrying to the Owlery to send it. It's when I'm walking back from the Owlery that I quite literally bump into somebody, causing for the both of us to fall backward.

I land hard on my head, causing me to let out a low groan until the pain subsides. I sit up straight, the same time the person I bumped into does, to see that it's Jace. We grin broadly at each other.

"Look at us, bumping into each other all the time," he says. "It's just like when we first met, d'you remember?"

"How could I forget?" I joke. "I'm surprised I didn't break anything, with you out to get me."

" _Me_? Out to get _you_?" Jace scoffs. "Oh, please, I'd say it's _you_ who was out to get _me_. You're a walking safety hazard, Hazel."

I give him a resentful look, but I'm laughing all the same, then register the sound of laughter from somebody else. I look up and see an olive-skinned boy with dark, messy hair and sharp brown eyes, clutching his stomach and laughing loudly at the pair of us.

"Would you look at that, Jace, I've found someone almost as clumsy as you!" he says in between his laughs.

"Nah, trust me, Dev, she's ten times clumsier than I am," Jace insists, grinning up at the boy.

"Oi!" I protest, as we get to our feet. "I'm not... _that_ much clumsier than you."

"Suuuure," Jace says sarcastically, exchanging looks with the boy that quite clearly says 'she totally is,' causing me to glare at the both of them, in spite of the smile on my face. "It's like I said, Hazel, walking safety hazard." Before I can come up with a retort, he says, "Anyway, Devon, this is Hazel Knight - Hazel, Devon Fuller."

I smile and wave at Devon, about to say some sort of greeting, when he simply gives Jace a pointed look, raising his eyebrows. When Jace seems not have noticed, Devon clears his throat in a shockingly accurate impression of Dolores Umbridge's voice. Jace jumps, looking around wildly, until he looks over at Devon and I laughing and glares at him.

"Merlin, don't do that again, I thought that old toad was back," Jace grumbles.

"Well, you've conveniently forgotten something," Devon states.

"Wha - oh, right, sorry, Dev - Hazel, Devon's my boyfriend."

" _Thank you_ ," Devon says pointedly, and I let out a laugh.

"Well, it's nice to meet you," I say, smiling at him.

"Same to you," he says, nodding casually at me. "I've heard all about you, of course."

"From who? Don't tell me this bloke is more obsessed with me than he lets on," I say, raising my eyebrows and nodding at Jace.

"Well, most of it's from him," Devon says, "but the rest is from.. most other people in the school."

I raise my eyebrows higher at this.

"I wasn't aware I was a topic of discussion in the school."

"Oh... well, you are," Devon says, slightly awkwardly.

"How are you not aware, Hazel?" Jace asks in exasperation. "Haven't I already told you a billion times that you're really popular?"

"Well... yes, but - you never really think about it - I mean, I never did - "

"Told you she's ridiculous," Jace says, interrupting my rambling to give Devon a long-suffering look. Before I can protest, "And before you can ask, since I'm sure you're wondering, yes she's always getting herself into dangerous shit and her and her friends spend more time acting like superheros than normal teenagers."

"Good to know," Devon says, chuckling, while I crack a small smile.

"That's an interesting way of putting it," I agree. "But, contrary to popular belief, we do act like normal teenagers sometimes."

"Sometimes," Devon repeats, raising his eyebrows.

"Sometimes," I confirm very seriously. "You know, from time to time."

"Well, I do happen to know for a fact that you've pulled some pretty wicked pranks," Devon says matter-of-factly. "I mean, the stuff you did when that old toad was still around? Legendary!"

I grin sheepishly and thank him.

"For the record, Devon is a mischievous little bugger," Jace states matter-of-factly. "Remember last year when that Warrington bloke was in the hospital wing because he got that weird skin condition that made him look like his skin was made out of cornflakes?"

"No," I whisper, looking over at Devon with a broad grin crossing my face. "You didn't..."

"I did," he confirms, with an odd combination of modesty and pride on his face.

"That's brilliant," I say earnestly, grinning. "You and me, Devon, we're going to have to get into some sort of mischief some time this year."

"Sounds good to me," Devon says, smiling back and running a hand through his hair. "And we're going to have to take this idiot - " he gestures towards Jace - "with us. He's been talking for ages about how great he is at pranking and I want to see if he's all talk or not."

"I'm _not_ ," Jace mumbles.

"We'll just see about that," Devon replies serenely.

"I'm excited to see that," I comment, letting out a small laugh.

We continue to talk for a while more, until I decide that I ought to get going and bid them both goodbye, both happy for Jace and Devon and excited to prank with them.

 

***

 

Halfway through October brings our first Hogsmeade trip. I'd been starting to wonder if these trips were even going to keep happening, considering the tightened security, so I'm pleased to find out that they still are. It's always nice to get out of the castle for a few hours.

The morning of the Hogsmeade trip, which proves to be stormy, when Hermione and I sit down for breakfast with Harry and Ron, they tell us of how Harry had used a spell that had Ron dangling upside down in midair.

"... and then, there was another flash of light, and I landed on the bed again!" Ron grins, helping himself to sausages.

While I grinned as he told the story, Hermione didn't crack a smile, and now turns an expression of wintry disapproval upon Harry when Ron finishes telling the story.

"Was this spell, by any chance, another one from that Potion book of yours?" Hermione asks.

The Half-Blood Prince's book does not only contain tips for making potions, but also spells that the Prince had seemingly invented himself. There's a hex that makes toenails grow alarmingly face (Harry tried it on Crabbe in the corridor, with entertaining results); a jinx that glues the tongue to the roof of the mouth (Harry did this twice, to general applause, on an unsuspecting Argus Filch); and, probably most useful of all, Muffliato, a spell that fills any nearby ears with unidentifiable buzzing, so that lengthy conversations can be held without anybody hearing. The only person who doesn't like any of these spells is Hermione, who maintains a disapproving expression throughout and refuses to talk at all if Harry uses Muffliato on anybody in vicinity.

Harry frowns at her.

"Always jump to the worst conclusions, don't you?"

"Was it?"

"Well... yeah, it was, but so what?"

"So you just decided to try out an unknown, handwritten incantation and see what would happen?"

"What does it matter if it's handwritten?" Harry replies.

"Because it's probably not Ministry approved," Hermione answers, and when Harry, Ron, and I roll our eyes, add, "And also because I'm starting to think this Prince character was a bit dodgy."

"It was a laugh!" Ron says, pouring ketchup onto his sausages. "Just a laugh, Hermione, that's all!"

"Dangling people upside down by their ankles?" Hermione says. "Who puts their time and energy into making spells like that?"

"Fred and George," Ron replies, shrugging. "It's their kind of thing. And - er - "

"My dad," Harry says suddenly.

"What?" Ron, Hermione, and I say together.

"My dad used this spell," Harry elaborates. "I - Lupin told me."

It takes me a moment to remember that his last statement is not true. He had actually seen his father use it on Snape in Snape's pensieve, Harry having told me about it before. For a moment, I think that perhaps Harry's father had been the Half-Blood Prince - until I remember that Harry's father was pure-blood.

"Maybe your dad did use it, Harry," Hermione says, "but he's not the only one. We've seen a whole bunch of people use it, in case you've forgotten. Dangling people in the air. Making them float along, asleep, helpless."

With a sinking feeling, I remember the behaviour of the Death Eaters at the Quidditch World Cup.

"That was different," Ron says robustly. "They were abusing it. Harry and his dad were just having a laugh. You don't like the Prince, Hermione," he continues, pointing a sausage at her sternly, "because he's better than you at Potions - "

"It's got nothing to do with that!" Hermione says hotly, her cheeks reddening. "I just think it's very irresponsible to start performing spells when you don't even know what they're for, and stop talking about 'the Prince' as if that's his title, I bet it's just a stupid nickname, and it doesn't seem as though he was a very nice person!"

"I don't know where you got that idea from," Harry says heatedly. "If he was a budding Death Eater, I don't think he would've boasted about being a half-blood, would he?"

"The Death Eaters can't all be pure-blood, there aren't enough pure-blood wizards left," Hermione argues stubbornly. "I expect most of them are half-bloods pretending to be pure. It's only Muggle-borns they hate, I'm sure they'd be happy to let you, Ron, and Hazel join up."

"There's no way they'd let me be a Death Eater!" Ron says indignantly. "My whole family are blood traitors. That's just as bad as Muggle-borns to Death Eaters."

"They're probably not very keen to have me, either," I add matter-of-factly, grinning. "Between my parents and what happened at the Ministry, I reckon they just want to finish me off."

"They'd love to have me," Harry says sarcastically. "We'd be best pals if they didn't keep trying to do me in."

Ron and I laugh, and even Hermione gives a grudging smile, before a distraction arrives in the form of Ginny.

"Hey, Harry, I'm supposed to give you this," Ginny says, handing him a scroll of parchment with thin, slanting writing on it.

"Thanks, Ginny... it's Dumbledore's next lesson! Monday evening!" Harry says to Ron, Hermione, and I, reading the note. He then turns to Ginny and says, "Want to join us in Hogsmeade, Ginny?"

"I'm going with Dean - might see you there," Ginny replies, waving as she leaves.

Filch is standing at the oak front doors as usual, checking off the names of people who are allowed to go to Hogsmeade. The process takes longer than usual, since Filch is triple-checking everybody with his Secrecy Sensor.

"What does it matter if we're smuggling Dark stuff OUT?" Ron demands, eyeing the long thin Secrecy Sensor with apprehension. "Surely you ought to be checking what we bring back IN?"

His cheek earns him a few extra stabs with the Secrecy Sensor, and he's still wincing as we step out into the window and sleet.

The walk to Hogsmeade is not a very enjoyable one. I wrap my scarf tightly around my lower face, the exposed part of it soon feeling raw and numb from the cold. The road to the village is full of students bent double against the bitter wind. More than once I start to wonder if I would've had a better time in the warm common room, and when we finally reach Hogsmeade and see that Zonko's Joke Shop has been boarded up, I realise this trip is probably not going to be very fun. Ron points, with a thickly gloved hand, towards Honeydukes, which is mercifully open, and so Harry, Hermione, and I stagger in his wake into the crowded shop.

"Thank God," shivers Ron, as we step into the warm, toffee-scented shop. "Let's stay here all afternoon."

"Harry, m'boy!" says a booming voice from behind us.

"Oh, no," Harry mutters.

The four of us turn around to see Professor Slughorn, wearing an enormous furry hat and an overcoat with a matching fur collar, clutching a large bag of crystallised pineapple and occupying at least a quarter of the shop.

"Harry, that's three of my little suppers you've missed now!" Slughorn says, poking him genially in the chest. "It won't do, m'boy, I'm determined to have you! Miss Granger loves them, don't you?"

"Yes," Hermione replies helplessly. "They're really - "

"So why don't you come along, Harry?" Slughorn demands.

"Well, I've had Quidditch practice, Professor," Harry replies, which is perfectly true; Harry has been purposely scheduling a Quidditch practice every time Slughorn sends an invitation for one of his dinners, so that Ron does not feel left out, and we can usually have a laugh with Ginny at the thought of Hermione shut up with McLaggen and Zabini.

"Well, I certainly expect you to win your first match with all the hard work!" Slughorn says. "But a little recreation never hurt anybody. Now, how about Monday night, you can't possibly practice in this weather..."

"I can't, Professor, I've got - er - an appointment with Professor Dumbledore that evening."

"Unlucky again!" Slughorn cries dramatically. "Ah, well... you can't evade me forever, Harry! But, should I expect to see you there, Miss Knight, without any more practices from your diligent Captain to keep you?"

And since I have no reasonable excuse to keep me from going, I say, smiling politely, "Yes, of course, sir."

"Excellent! I shall see you both, then!" Slughorn booms, nodding at Hermione and I, and with a regal wave, he waddles out of the shop, once again taking no notice of Ron.

"I can't believe you've wriggled out of another one," Hermione says, shaking her head. "They're not that bad, you know... they're even quite fun sometimes..." but then she catches sight of Ron's expression and quickly says, "Oh, look - they've got deluxe sugar quills - that would last hours!"

Glad that Hermione has changed the subject, both Harry and I express more interesting in the sugar quills than we normally would, but Ron continues to look moody and merely shrugs when Hermione asks him where he wants to go next.

"Let's go to the Three Broomsticks," I suggest. "It'll be warm."

We bundle our scarves back over our faces and walk out of the shop. The bitter wind is like knives on our skin after the sugary warmth of Honeydukes. The street isn't very busy; nobody is lingering to chat, just hurrying to their destinations. The exception is two men a little ahead of us, standing just outside of the Three Broomsticks. One is tall and thin; squinting a bit, I recognise him as the barman of the other pub, the Hog's Head. As Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I draw closer, he wraps his cloak more tightly around himself and walks away, leaving the shorter man to fumble with something in his arms. When we're a few feet away from him, I recognise him.

"Mundungus!" Harry calls out.

The squat, bandy-legged man with long, straggly, ginger hair jumps and drops an ancient suitcase, which bursts open, releasing what could very well be the entire contents of a junk shop window.

"Oh, 'ello, 'Arry," Mundungus says, with an unconvincing stab at airiness. "Well, don't let me keep ya."

And he begins scrabbling on the ground to retrieve the contents of his suitcase with the appearance of a man very eager to be gone.

"Are you selling this stuff?" Harry asks, watching Mundungus pick up an assortment of grubby-looking objects off the ground, and at that moment, I frown at a silver goblet on the ground, squinting at it slightly. I'm quite certain that the Black family crest is on it.

"Oh, well, gotta scrape a living," Mundungus replies, just as I pick up the goblet and see, sure enough, the crest and the family motto, 'Toujours Pur.' "Gimme that!" Mundungus says.

"Wait a minute," I say slowly, frowning and looking up briefly at Mundungus, before returning my gaze to the goblet. If this belonged to the Black family, then Mundungus must have raided Grimmauld Place. "This is - "

"Thank you!" Mundungus says, snatching the goblet out of my hand and stuffing it back in the case. "Well, I'll see you all - OUCH!"

Harry has pinned Mundungus to the wall of the pub by his throat. Holding him with one hand, Harry pulls out his wand with his other hand.

"Harry!" Hermione squeals.

"You took that from Sirius' house," Harry says. "That had the Black family crest on it."

"I - no - what - ?" Mundungus splutters, slowly turning purple.

"What did you do, go back the night he died and stripped the place?" Harry snarls.

"I - no - "

"Give it to me!"

"Harry, you mustn't!" Hermione shrieks, as Mundungus starts to turn blue.

There's a bang, and then his hands fly off Mundungus' throat. Gasping and spluttering, Mundungus seizes the case, then Disapparates. While Harry swears at the top of his voice, I look around to see who cast the spell and find Tonks, her mousy hair wet with sleet.

"There's no point, Harry. Mundungus will probably be in London by now. There's no point in yelling."

"He's nicked Sirius' stuff! Nicked it!"

"Yes, but still," Tonks says, looking perfectly untroubled by this piece of information. "You should get out of the cold."

She watches us go through the door of the Three Broomsticks. The moment we're inside, Harry bursts out, "He was nicking Sirius' stuff."

"I know, Harry, but please don't shout, people are staring," Hermione whispers.

"Here, you three get a table, and I'll get the drinks, yeah?" I suggest quietly, and make my way through the crowd to the counter.

Harry is still fuming when I find Harry, Ron, and Hermione again, carrying four bottles of Butterbeer.

"Can't the Order control Mundungus?" Harry says in a furious whisper, as I hand each of them a bottle and sit in the empty chair beside Harry. "Can't they at least stop him stealing everything that's not fixed down when he's at Headquarters?"

"Not so loud!" I hiss, looking around to make sure nobody is listening; there are a couple of warlocks sitting nearby that are staring at Harry with great interest, and Zabini is lolling against a pillar not too far away. "Harry, look, I'd be annoyed, too, it was Sirius' stuff and now it's your stuff he's nicking - "

Harry chokes on his Butterbeer. Clearly, he had forgotten momentarily that Sirius had left him Grimmauld Place in his will.

"Yeah, it is my stuff!" he says. "No wonder he wasn't pleased to see me! Well, I'm going to tell Dumbledore about this, he's the one one that scares Mundungus."

"Good idea," I say. "Much more effective than yelling about it, too."

"Ron, what are you staring at?" Hermione adds.

"Nothing," Ron says, looking away from the bar, but I get the impression that he was trying to catch the eye of the curvy and pretty bar maid, Madam Rosmerta, who Ron has always had a crush on.

"I expect 'nothing' is in the back getting more firewhisky," Hermione says waspishly.

Ron ignores this comment, sipping his drink in what he evidently thinks is a dignified silence. Hermione drums her fingers on the table, looking from Ron to the bar. Harry has a faraway look on his face, and I get the impression that his mind is still with Mundungus and those stolen objects.

When I drain the last drops of my bottle, I say bracingly, "Let's just call it a day and head back to the school, yeah?"

The other three nod; it hasn't been a fun trip and the weather only gets worse and worse the longer we stay. Once again, we draw our cloaks tightly around ourselves, rearrange our scarves, pull on our gloves, and follow Katie Bell and her friends out of the pub and back up the High Street.

It's not for a little while that I become aware of the voices of Katie Bell and her friend, which are being carried back to me with the wind, becoming shriller and louder. I squint at their indistinct figures. Finally, I decide that they seem to be having an argument over something Katie is holding in her hands.

"It has nothing to do with you, Leanne!" I hear Katie say.

We round a corner in the lane, sleet coming thick and fast. Leanne makes to grab hold of the package, but Katie tugs it back and it falls to the ground.

At once, Katie rises into the air gracefully, her arms outstretched, as though she is about to fly. Yet there's something wrong, something eerie... her hair is whipped around by the fierce wind, but her eyes are closed and her face is empty of emotion. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Leanne, and I all halt in our tracks to watch her.

Then, six feet above the ground, Katie lets out a terrible scream. Her eyes fly open, but whatever she can see, whatever she's feeling, is clearly causing her great anguish. She screams and screams and screams; Leanne lets out a scream, too, and seizes Katie's ankles, trying to tug her back onto the ground. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I rush forward to help, but just as we grab Katie's legs, she falls on top of us. Harry and Ron manage to catch her, but she's writing so much that they can hardly hold her, so they lower her onto the ground, where she continues to thrash and scream, apparently completely unaware of us.

Harry looks around at the deserted landscape, then says, "Stay here! I'm going for help!"

He begins to sprint towards the school. By the time he returns with Hagrid, a small group has formed around Katie, who is still writhing and screaming. Ron, Hermione, Leanne, and I are trying to quiet her, but to no avail.

"Get back!" Hagrid shouts. "Let me see her!"

"Something's happened to her!" Leanne sobs. "I don't know what - "

Hagrid stares at Katie for a second, then without a word, bends down, scoops her into his arms, and runs off towards the castle with her. Within seconds, the sound of her screams die out and all can be heard is the roar of the wind.

I hesitate for a moment, before hurrying over to Katie's wailing friend and putting a comforting arm around her.

"It's - it's Leanne, isn't it?" I ask gently, and the girl nods. "How did it happen? Did it just happen suddenly, or - ?"

"It was when that package tore," Leanne sobs, pointing at the now sodden brown-paper package on the ground, which has been split open to reveal greenish glitter.

Ron bends down, hand outstretched, but Harry seizes his arm and pulls him back.

"Don't touch it!"

He crouches down. An ornate opal necklace is visible, poking out of the paper. I frown slightly. I remember seeing that at Borgin and Burke's in the summer.

"I've seen it before," Harry states. "It was on display in Borgin and Burkes. The label said it was cursed. Katie must have touched it." He looks up at Leanne, who has started to shake uncontrollably. "How did Katie get a hold of this?"

"Well, that's why we were arguing. She came back from the bathroom in the Three Broomsticks holding it, said it was a surprise for someone on Hogwarts and she had to deliver it to them. She looked all funny when she said it... oh, no, oh, no, I bet she'd been Imperiused and I hadn't realised it!"

Leanne shakes with renewed sobs, and I pat her shoulder gently.

"Did she say who had given it to her, Leanne?"

"No... she wouldn't tell me... and I said she was being stupid and not to take it up to the school, but she wouldn't listen and... and then I tried to grab it from her... and - and - " Leanne lets out a wail of despair.

"We'd better get up to the school," Hermione advises. "We'll be able to find out how she is. Come on..."

Harry hesitates for a moment, then pulls his scarf from around his face, carefully covering the necklace in it, and picking it up.

"We'll need to show this to Madam Pomfrey," he explains.

We follow Hermione up the High Road, and even though I keep comforting Leanne, I keep thinking the situation over. Who would give Katie a cursed necklace? And to whom did they want Katie to give the necklace?

As we reach the castle, I see Professor McGonagall hurrying down the stone steps through swirling sleet to catch up to us.

"Hagrid says you five saw what happened to Katie Bell - upstairs to my office at once, please! What's that you're holding, Potter?"

"It's the thing she touched."

"Good lord," McGonagall says, looking alarmed as she takes the necklace from Harry. "No, no, Filch, they're with me!" she adds hastily, as Filch comes shuffling eagerly across the Entrance Hall, holding his Secrecy Sensor. "Take this necklace to Professor Snape at once, but be sure not to touch it, keep it wrapped in that scarf!"

We follow Professor McGonagall upstairs and into her office. The sleet-splattered windows are rattling in their frames, and the room is quite chilly in spite of the fire crackling in the grate. Professor McGonagall closes the door and sweeps around her desk to face Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the still sobbing Leanne, and I.

"Well?" she says sharply. "What happened?"

Haltingly, and with many pauses in which she tries to control her crying, Leanne tells Professor McGonagall about how Katie had gone to the bathroom in the Three Broomsticks and returned holding the unmarked package, how Katie seemed a little odd, how they had argued about the advisability of delivering unknown objects, the argument culminating in the tussle over the parcel, which tore open. At this point, Leanne is so overcome that there is no getting another word out of her.

"Alright," Professor McGonagall says, not unkindly, "go up to the hospital wing, Leanne, and get Madam Pomfrey to give you something for shock."

When Leanne leaves the room, McGonagall turns to Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I.

"Why is it," she begins, "that whenever something happens, it's always you four?"

"Believe me, Professor, I've been asking myself that for six years," Ron assures her.

"Well?" McGonagall says. "What happened when Katie touched the necklace?"

"She rose into the air," Harry replies immediately, "and then began to scream, and then collapsed. Professor, can I see Professor Dumbledore?"

"The headmaster is away until Monday, Potter," McGonagall says, looking surprised.

"Away?" Harry repeats angrily.

"Yes, Potter, away!" McGonagall says tartly. "But anything you have to say about this horrible business can be said to me, I'm sure!"

Harry hesitates for a split second, then says, "I think Draco Malfoy gave Katie that necklace, Professor."

Ron rubs his nose in apparent embarrassment, while Hermione shuffles her feet slightly, as though she wants to put distance between herself and Harry. I just look over at Harry with slightly raised eyebrows, interested and sceptical but not very surprised.

"That is a very serious accusation, Potter," McGonagall states, after a shocked pause. "Do you have any proof?"

"No," Harry admits, "but..."

And he tells her about following Malfoy to Borgin and Burkes and the conversation we had overheard between him and Borgin. When he finishes speaking, McGonagall looks slightly confused.

"Malfoy took something to Borgin and Burkes for repair?"

"No, Professor, he just wanted Borgin to tell him how to mend something, he didn't have it with him. But that's not the point, the thing is he bought something at the same time, and I think it was that necklace - "

"You saw Malfoy leaving with a similar package?"

"No, Professor, he told Borgin to keep it in the shop for him - "

"But, Harry," Hermione interrupts, "Borgin asked him if he wanted to take it with him, and Malfoy said no - "

"Because he didn't want to touch it, obviously!" Harry says angrily.

"What he actually said was, 'How would I look carrying it down the street,'" Hermione points out.

"Well, he would look like a bit of a prat carrying around a necklace," Ron interjects.

"Oh, Ron," Hermione says despairingly, "it would all be wrapped up, so he wouldn't have to touch it, and it'd be quite easy to hide inside a cloak, so nobody could see it! I think whatever he reserved at Borgin and Burkes is really noisy and bulky, something he knew would draw attention to him if he carried it down the street."

"But wait a minute," I say suddenly, frowning. "I asked Borgin about the necklace, don't you remember? The necklace and that Hand of Glory, and he didn't say the price to either of them right away like he did the rest of them. Didn't we agree that it was fishy and it might've been what Malfoy had bought?"

"But he did tell you the price of the necklace in the end," Hermione argues. "He didn't say it had been sold."

"Well, obviously Malfoy didn't want anyone to know he was buying it, and Borgin was already getting suspicious of Hazel, so he wouldn't be keen to tell her - "

"That's enough!" McGonagall says, as Hermione opens her mouth to retort, looking furious. "Potter, I appreciate you telling me this, but we cannot point the finger of blame on Mr. Malfoy purely because he visited the shop where the necklace might have been purchased. The same is probably true for hundreds of people - "

"That's what I said," mumbles Ron.

" - and in any case, we have put many security measures in place this year. I do not think that necklace could possibly enter our school without our knowledge - "

"But - "

" - and what's more," McGonagall continues, with an air of finality, "Mr. Malfoy was not in Hogsmeade today."

Harry gapes at her.

"How do you know?"

"Because he was doing detention with me. He has now failed to complete his Transfiguration homework twice in a row. So, thank you for telling me your suspicions, Potter," she says as she marches past us, "but I need to go up to the hospital wing to check on Katie Bell. Good day to you all."

She holds open the office door, leaving us no choice but to file quietly out the door. Harry looks angry as we walk back to the common room, but still joins in the conversation discussing what had happened.

"So who do you reckon Katie was supposed to give the necklace to?" Ron asks.

"Goodness only knows," Hermione says. "But whoever it was had a narrow escape. No one could have opened that package without touching the necklace."

"It could've been meant for loads of people," Harry points out. "Dumbledore - the Death Eaters would love to get rid of him, he must be one of their top targets. Or Slughorn - Dumbledore reckons Voldemort really wanted him and they can't be pleased that he's sided with Dumbledore. Or - "

"Or you," Hermione points out, looking troubled.

"Couldn't have been," Harry says dismissively, "or Katie would've just turned around in the lane and given it to me, wouldn't she? I was behind her all the way out of the Three Broomsticks. It would've made more sense to deliver the parcel outside of Hogwarts, what with Filch searching everyone who goes in and out. I wonder why Malfoy told her to take it to the castle?"

"Harry, Malfoy wasn't in Hogsmeade!" Hermione says, actually stamping her foot in frustration.

"He must have used an accomplice, then," Harry says. "Crabbe or Goyle - or come to think of it, another Death Eater, he'll have loads of other better cronies now that he's joined up - "

Ron, Hermione, and I exchange looks, showing me that they're both thinking the same thing: there's no arguing with him.

"Dilligrout," Hermione says firmly, when we reach the Fat Lady.

The portrait hole swings open to allow us into the common room. It's full and smells of damp clothing; many people have returned to Hogwarts early because of the bad weather. There's no buzz of fear or speculation, though; clearly, news of what happened to Katie hasn't spread yet.

"It wasn't a very slick attack, really, when you think about it," Ron says, casually turfing a first year out of one of the good armchairs by the fire so that he can sit down. "The curse didn't even make it to the castle. Not what'd you call foolproof."

"You're right," I agree, pushing Ron out of the chair, offering it to the first year, and sitting in the last empty chair before Ron can take it. "It really wasn't well thought-out at all."

"But since when has Malfoy been one of the world's greatest thinkers?" Harry points out.

Ron, Hermione, and I don't answer him.


	10. Kissing and Quidditch

**Distance Means Nothing**

**Chapter Ten: Kissing and Quidditch**

 

Katie is removed to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries the next day, by which time the news that she had been cursed has spread all over the school, though the details are confused and it seems as though nobody but Harry, Ron, Hermione, Leanne, and I seem to know that Katie hadn't been the intended target.

"Oh, and Malfoy knows, of course," Harry adds to Ron, Hermione, and I, and we continue with our policy of feigning deafness whenever Harry brings up his Malfoy-Is-A-Death-Eater theory.

I start to wonder whether Dumbledore will return in time for his lesson with Harry on Monday, but Harry leaves for Dumbledore's office, anyway, having received no word to do the contrary, while Hermione, Ginny, and I go over with extreme reluctance to Slughorn's office for another one of Slughorn's dinners.

This dinner, at least, proves to be better than the last one. Of course, he drones on and on about famous exploits, and positively fawns over McLaggen because he's so well-connected, but at least the food he gives us is good, and, most of all, he introduces us to Gwenog Jones of the Holyhead Harpies.

As I stare at her, Hermione on my right looking interested but not too excited, and Ginny looking ready to pass out from excitement, the first thing that registers in my mind, beside how unbelievable it is that I'm actually meeting Gwenog Jones, is vague surprise that Slughorn really had not been lying about his connection with famous wizards and being close with Gwenog Jones.

By the end of the dinner, I get the impression that she's rather full of herself, but in my excitement of meeting the captain of one of my favourite Quidditch teams, I only allow myself to get extremely annoyed when she insists she must get going and leaves the room.

Just before we leave, Slughorn announces that he's going to be having a Christmas party - and no doubt he'll be able to get a couple of his old students to come along, as he insists very seriously. He also asks Hermione and I to actually check for evenings Harry is free, so he can't wriggle out of this one, as well. I curse internally as he does, because that means Harry can't book a Quidditch practice and I won't have a valid reason to get out of it - but then again, at least Harry, Hermione, and Ginny are going to be going right down with me. What can I say? Misery loves company.

We have Herbology first thing next morning, and on the way to the greenhouses, Harry tells us about his meeting with Dumbledore the previous night, where he and Dumbledore had gone in the Pensieve to go back to the day where Dumbledore had told a younger Voldemort, when he was still Tom Riddle, that he was a wizard and had been accepted to Hogwarts.

"Wow, scary thought, the boy You-Know-Who," Ron says quietly, as we take our place around one of the gnarled Snargalaff stumps that form this term's project, and begin pulling on our protective gloves. "But I still don't get why Dumbledore is showing you all this. I mean, it's really interesting and everything, but what's the point?"

"Dunno," Harry says, as we insert our gum shields. "But he says it's all important and it'll help me survive."

"I think it's fascinating," Hermione says earnestly. "It makes absolute sense to know as much about Voldemort as possible. How else will you find out his weaknesses?"

"So how was Slughorn's party?" Harry asks Hermione and I.

"It was alright, I suppose," I muse, now putting on protective goggles. "I mean, he goes on and on about famous exploits, and he always fawns over McLaggen because he's so well-connected, but that's nothing new, and besides, the food was good and he even introduced us to Gwenog Jones - "

"Gwenog Jones?" Ron repeats, his eyes widening under his own protective goggles. " _The_ Gwenog Jones? Captain of the Holyhead Harpies?"

"That's right," Hermione confirms. "Personally, I thought she was a bit full of herself, but - "

"Quite enough chat over there!" Sprout says briskly, bustling over and looking stern. "You're lagging behind, everybody else has started, and Neville's already got his first pod!"

We look around; sure enough, there sits Neville with a bloody lip and several nasty scratches along the side of his face, but clutching an unpleasantly pulsating green object the size of a grapefruit.

"Okay, Professor, we're starting now!" Ron calls, then adds, lowering his voice when she turns away, "Should've used Muffliato, Harry."

"No, we shouldn't have!" Hermione says at once, looking, as usual, extremely cross at the mention of the Prince and his spells. "Well... come on... we'd better get going..."

She gives us an apprehensive look; we all take a deep breath and dive at the gnarled stump between us. It springs to life at once. Long, prickly, bramble-like vines fly out from the top and whip through the air. One tangles itself into Hermione's hair and Ron beats it back with a pair of secateurs; I manage to succeed in trapping a couple of vines and knotting them together; a hole opens in the middle of all the tentacle-like branches. Hermione plunges her arm rather bravely into the hole, which closes like a trap around her elbow. Harry, Ron, and I tug and wrench at the vines, forcing the hole open again, and Hermione frees her arm, holding a pod just like Neville's. At once, the prickly vines shoot back inside, and the gnarled stump sits there like an innocently dead lump of wood.

"You know, I don't think I'll be having anything like this in my garden once I've got my own place," Ron states, pushing his goggles up onto his forehead and wiping his face.

"Pass me a bowl," Hermione says, holding the pulsating pod at arm's length; Harry hands one over and she drops the pod onto it, a look of disgust on her face.

"Don't be squeamish, squeeze it out, they're best when they're fresh!" Professor Sprout calls.

"Anyway," Hermione says casually, continuing our interrupted conversation as though we haven't just been attacked by a lump of wood, "Slughorn's going to be having a Christmas party, Harry, and there's no way you'll be able to wriggle out of this one, because he actually asked us to check your free evenings, so he could be sure to have it on a night you'll be able to come."

Harry groans. Ron, meanwhile, who is attempting to burst the pod in the bowl by putting both hands on it and squashing it as hard as he can, angrily says, "And this is another party just for Slughorn's favourites, is it?"

"Just for the Slug Club, yes," Hermione confirms.

The pod flies out from Ron's fingers and hits the greenhouse glass, rebounding onto the back of Sprout's head and knocking off her hat.

"The Slug Club, eh?" Ron says, while Harry goes to retrieve the pod. "Is that what you've all taken to calling it now?"

"Look, I didn't choose the name Slug Club - " Hermione begins when Harry returns.

"'Slug Club,'" Ron repeats, with a sneer worthy of Malfoy. "It's pathetic. Well, I hope you enjoy your party. Why don't you try hooking up with McLaggen, that way Slughorn can make you Queen and King Slug - "

"We're allowed to bring guests," Hermione states, turning scarlet, "and I was going to ask you to come, but if you think it's so stupid, then I won't bother!"

Almost immediately, my mind starts thinking of a million places that I'd rather be besides here, in the middle of Ron and Hermione. Harry and I are unnoticed by the two, however, and they continue their conversation without much regard to us. Deciding to take matters into my own hands, I take the pod, pretending to be crushing it, but then force it to fly through my fingers and onto the other side of the greenhouse, trying my best to make it look like an accident.

"Blimey, those things are slippery," I mutter. "Come with me to get it, Harry."

With that, I leap to my feet and drag Harry along with me, shooting Sprout an apologetic smile. We take our time going to get the Snargaluff pod, but we can still hear their conversation continuing as we walk back.

"You were going to ask me?" Ron asks, in a completely different voice, and Harry and I start walking as slowly as reasonably possible, so that we can hear their conversation but also don't have to be stuck in between them.

"Yes, but obviously if you'd rather I  _hooked up with McLaggen..._ "

There's a small pause, in which it almost seems as though the conversation is over and that it's about time that Harry and I sit back down, but then Ron speaks.

"No, I wouldn't," he says in a very quiet voice.

There is another short pause, until a brisk voice right behind Harry and I says, making us jump, "Well, back to work, then, you two! You're not here to just stand around!"

We whip around to see Professor Sprout in front of us, a stern expression on her face.

"Yes, sorry, Professor, we'll get right to work," I say quickly, and finally Harry and I return to our seats and sit down, me putting the pod back in the bowl.

Ron and Hermione had evidently heard Sprout scolding Harry and I, because they're no longer discussing the Christmas party and they seem more aware of our presence. Hermione becomes rather flustered and starts muttering about finding her copy of  _Flesh-Eating Trees of the World_ to find out about the proper way to juice a Snargaluff pod, while Ron looks sheepish but pleased with himself. 

"Hand that over, Hazel," Hermione says hurriedly. "It says we're supposed to puncture it with something sharp..."

I pass her the pod in the bowl; Harry, Ron, and I snap our goggles back on and dive, once more, for the stump. I'm a little distracted, which doesn't much help doing something like this, but it isn't  _my_ fault that two of my best friends have finally decided to make some sort of acknowledgement of their feelings towards each other in the middle of  _Herbology_ clas.

 _Talk about bad timing..._ I think, while I plunge my hand into the gnarled stump, grab hold of another pod, and wait, rather uncomfortably, for Harry and Ron to get the hole to open again.

It's not like I'm very surprised by it, thought; I have seen it coming for a very long time. Now that it's happening, though, I can't stop worries from surfacing in my mind. What if they date and break up? Could their friendship survive it? It's a constant fear I have with Fred, our relationship ending up ruined forever because we broke up - I could watch as many television shows, as many films, read as many books as I want, I'm never going to believe that a friendship can survive after a breakup. Ron and Hermione are two of my best friends in the world; I can't hear the thought of their relationship ruined over a breakup, unable to even look at each other...

After a moment, I stop feeling the stump closed around my arm, and I pull it free, clutching onto the second pod, just as Hermione bursts the first one open, so that the bowl is full of tubers wriggling like pale green worms.

The rest of the lesson passes by without any mentions of Slughorn's party. Over the next few days, though, I watch Ron and Hermione more closely, they don't seem to be any different except for the fact that they're more polite to each other, and after talking briefly with Harry, he doesn't seem to notice any other differences, either. I suppose I'm going to have to wait and see what will happen under the somewhat mild influence of Butterbeer in Slughorn's dimly lit room the night of the party - and until then, there are more pressing matters.

Since Katie Bell is still in St. Mungo's with no prospect of leaving any time soon, Harry has to find someone to replace her as Chaser on the team. Harry doesn't seem to be able to stand another full-house tryout (understandably, considering how the last one went), so he finds Dean and appoints him to replace Katie.

Seamus ends up rather disgruntled by the decision, even though Dean had outflown Seamus at the tryouts, and he's not the only one; there is much muttering in the common room about the fact that Harry has now chosen three of his classmates for the team. I'm not overly concerned; Harry had been fair throughout the tryouts, so it's clear to most that whoever had been chosen were the best for the team. The fact that three of us happen to be friends and classmates of his is just... a lucky coincidence. Regardless, a great deal more pressure is put on the team for the first match, because if we lose... the opinions of those people will be solidified.

However, Dean proves to be the right choice at practice that evening; he words well with Ginny and I. The Beaters, Demelza and Jimmy, are getting better all the time. The only problem, unfortunately, is Ron.

I've known all along that Ron is an inconsistent player who tends to suffer from nerves and a lack of self-confidence, and unfortunately, the looming prospect of the first match of the year is bringing back his old insecurities. After letting in half a dozen goals, his technique becomes wilder and wilder, until he finally punches an oncoming Demelza in the mouth.

"It was an accident, I'm sorry, Demelza, really sorry!" Ron shouts after her as she zigzags onto the ground, dripping blood everywhere. "I just - "

"Panicked," Ginny says angrily, as she and I land onto the ground in front of her. "You prat, Ron, look at the state of her!"

"I can fix that," Harry says, landing beside us, pointing his wand at Demelza's mouth and saying, " _Episkey_! And don't call Ron a prat, Ginny, you're not the Captain of this team - "

"Well, you seemed busy and I thought someone ought to - "

Harry, looking as though he's trying very hard not to laugh, says, "In the air, everyone, let's go..."

Overall, it's one of the worst practices we've had all term, but I don't think admitting that is the best thing to do when we're so close to the match, and apparently neither does Harry.

"Good work, everyone, I think we'll flatten Slytherin."

The Beaters and the Chasers lead the way to the changing rooms looking reasonably pleased with themselves, though the case isn't the same for Ron.

"I played like a sack of dragon dung," Ron says hollowly, when the door swings shut behind Ginny.

"No, you didn't," Harry says firmly. "You're the best Keeper I tried out, Ron. Your only problem is nerves."

Harry and I keep up a relentless flow of encouragement all the way back up to the castle, so that by the time we reach the second floor, Ron is looking considerably more cheerful. When Harry pushes open a tapestry to take our usual shortcut back to Gryffindor tower, however, we find ourselves looking at Ginny and Dean, locked in a tight embrace and kissing each other fiercely.

I look at the two, smirking and wondering whether I should interrupt them or leave them to it, when Ron indignantly and loudly says, "Oi!"

Dean and Ginny break apart and look round.

"What?" Ginny says.

"I don't want to find my own sister snogging people in public!" Ron says.

"This was a deserted corridor until you came butting in!"

Dean is starting to look rather embarrassed. He shoots Harry and I a shifty grin, which I return with a shrug and a smile, but Harry doesn't return the gesture, and quite suddenly, I remember the way Harry was watching Ginny go on the train... when he asked her if she wanted to come with us to Hogsmeade...

"Er... c'mon, Ginny," Dean says, "let's go back to the common room."

I think Dean and Ginny going anywhere away from Ron is an excellent idea, but Ginny says, "You go! I want a word with my dear brother!"

Dean leaves, looking as though he isn't sorry to depart the scene.

"Right," Ginny says, tossing her long red hair out of her face and glaring at Ron, "let's get this straight once and for all. It's none of your business who I go out with and what I do with them, Ron - "

"Yeah, it is!" Ron says, just as angrily. "D'you think I want people saying my sister's a - "

"A what?" Ginny yells, drawing her wand. "A what, exactly?"

I look round at Ron, frowning, and open my mouth to speak, but just then Harry says, "He doesn't mean anything, Ginny."

"Oh, yes, he does," Ginny says, flaring up at Harry. "Just because he's never snogged anyone in his life, just because the best kiss he's ever had is from our Auntie Muriel - "

"Shut your mouth!" Ron bellows, passing red and turning maroon.

"No, I will not!" Ginny shouts, beside herself. "I've seen you with Phlegm, hoping she'll kiss you on the cheek every time you see her, it's pathetic! If you went out and got a bit of snogging done yourself, you wouldn't mind so much that everyone else does it!"

Ron has pulled out his own wand now; Harry steps swiftly in between them.

"Oh, both of you cut it out," I say, rolling my eyes and stepping between them as well. "You're being - "

"You don't know what you're talking about!" Ron roars, now trying to get a clear shot at Ginny between Harry and I. "Just because I don't do it in public - "

Ginny screams with derisive laughter, trying to push me away.

"Been kissing Pigwidgeon, have you? Or have you got a picture of Auntie Muriel stashed under your pillow? Or - "

A streak of orange light flies under my arm and misses Ginny by inches, causing Harry to push Ron against the wall.

"Don't be stupid - "

"Oh, this is ridiculous!" I say in exasperation, draw my own wand, and cry, " _Protego!_ "

The Shield Charm acts as a barrier between Harry and Ron and Ginny and I, and the other three stumble slightly from the force of my spell. Now sure that they won't be able to jinx each other, I want to go on, but Ginny has recovered from the force of the spell and is already going off on Ron again.

"Harry's snogged Cho Chang!" she says, sounding close to tears now. "Hazel's snogged Fred! And Hermione's snogged Viktor Krum, it's only you who acts like it's something disgusting, Ron, and that's because you've got about as much experience as a twelve year-old!"

"Alright, enough!" I say firmly. "Ron, cut it out, okay, you don't get to decide who Ginny snogs or who she dates or whatever. Ginny - Ginny, just don't hex your brother, okay? Come on."

I remove the Shield Charm, give the two of them hard looks that warn them not to hex each other, and walk through the tapestry.

"Come on," I repeat firmly to Ginny when she doesn't move, grab her arm, and lead the way down the corridor.

As we walk, I turn back to look at Harry and Ron, who are breathing heavily, give Harry a 'good luck' sort of glance, which he returns, before making the tapestry swing shut with a wave of my wand (I'm really getting the hang of non-verbal spells).

Ginny rants furiously about Ron the whole way back to Gryffindor tower. I decide to let her have her moment, since I'd be upset if the roles were reversed. I even join in with her in a milder way, since I think that that's rather the right thing to do, because he really had overreacted, and besides, she'd do the same if the roles were reversed, and I ought to be the same kind of angry and supportive friend.

Once we reach Gryffindor tower, we walk right up to the girls' dormitories, and I join her in the fifth years' dormitory, flopping down on the bed opposite hers, where we spend the rest of the night talking (the main topic of the conversation is boys and siblings - mainly brothers - and just how stupid they really are) until Ginny is starting to drift off to sleep and some other members of the dormitory are starting to come in, at which point I bid Ginny goodnight and go to my own dormitory.

 

***

 

The next morning, I wake up hoping that perhaps Ron has calmed down and come to his senses since last night, but unfortunately, it's not long until I find out that quite the opposite has happened; not only is he cold-shouldering Ginny and Dean, but he's also treating a hurt and bewildered Hermione with a cold, sneering indifference. What's more, Ron has seemed to become, overnight, as touchy and ready to lash out on anyone as the average Blast-Ended Skrewt. Harry and I spend the day trying to keep peace between Ron and Hermione with little success; finally, Hermione departs for bed in high dudgeon, and Ron stalks off to bed after swearing angrily at a few frightened first years for looking at him.

To my dismay, Ron's aggression does not wear off over the next few days. To make matters worse, it causes an even deeper dip in his Keeping skills, which makes him even more aggressive, so that during the final Quidditch practice during Saturday's match, he fails to save every single goal the Chasers aim at him, but bellows at everyone to the point that he sends Demelza to tears.

"You shut up and leave her alone!" shouts Peakes, who's only a third of Ron's height but also admittedly carrying a large bat.

Ginny is glowering at Ron, and I can't help but do the same briefly, before flying over to Demelza.

"C'mon, Demelza, don't worry about him," I say in an undertone. "It's just that  _certain people_ are in a bad mood and are getting more upset over the fact that they're doing worse than usual, that's all. You're getting better and better all the time, Demelza, you're going to give Crabbe and Goyle a run for their money."

"Really?" she says.

"Really," I confirm, nodding. "I mean, that one hit you made towards Ron was brilliant - you probably nearly broke his back. Hell, I'd be a bit cranky, too, you've got so much power with that bat of yours."

She lets out a small laugh, wiping the tears from her face hurriedly.

"Oi, are we calling it a day, Captain?" I call, turning towards Harry, who's flying over to Ron.

"Yeah, I reckon so," Harry replies. "Jimmy, go and pack up the Bludgers. Demelza, pull yourself together, you played really well today..."

"See?" I say, turning back to Demelza as we start flying towards the ground. "You've even got our esteemed  _captain's_ seal of approval."

Demelza smiles as we land and start walking towards the changing rooms. I do my best to keep comforting her and keep her laughing all the way to the changing rooms and while we're changing, so that by the time we've finished changing, she seems to be feeling better, and thanks me before walking out of the changing rooms.

Harry and Ron catch up to Hermione and I at dinner. At the look on Harry and Ron's faces and the way Harry keeps trying to encourage Ron, I decide Ron must be going through one of his fits of insecurity again, and I jump in with Harry to try and encourage him, even if I am still mad at him, but he's too busy being surly with Hermione to notice. Harry and I persist in the common room that evening, but our insisting that the whole team would be devastated if Ron left is somewhat undermined by the fact that the rest of the team is huddled in a distant corner, clearly muttering about Ron and sending him nasty looks. Finally, Harry and I try getting angry in hopes that Ron's defiance will bring about his talent as a Keeper, but it doesn't work; Ron goes to bed as dejected as ever.

I go to bed not too long after that, but I don't sleep for several hours. Instead, I stare up at the crimson canvas of my four-poster, thinking over the situation with Ron and hoping that everything will miraculously work itself out for the match.

 

***

 

Breakfast the next morning is an excitable affair; the Slytherins hiss and boo loudly as each member of the Gryffindor team enters the Hall. I look up at the ceiling to see a pale, blue sky. A good omen.

 _But for what side?_ the more pessimistic side of me thinks.

The Gryffindor table, a solid mass of red and gold, cheers at the sight of each member of the Gryffindor team. Harry and I grin and wave; Ron, however, grimaces weakly and shakes his head.

"Cheer up, Ron!" Lavender calls. "I know you'll be brilliant!"

Ron doesn't reply.

"Tea?" Harry asks Ron. "Coffee? Pumpkin juice?"

"Anything," Ron replies glumly, moodily taking a bit of toast, while I look at Harry suspiciously, confused as to why he's so eager to give Ron something to drink.

A few minutes later, Hermione, who has become so tired of Ron's recent unpleasant behaviour that she has stopped coming down to breakfast with us if Ron is around, pauses on her way up the table.

"How are you feeling?" she asks tentatively, her eyes on the back of Ron's head.

"Fine," Harry says, concentrating on Ron's pumpkin juice. When I notice the little bottle in Harry's hand, my eyes widen, everything suddenly clicking into place when I recognise the bottle as the bottle of Felix Felicis that Slughorn had given him. "There you go, Ron. Drink up."

Ron has just raised the glass to his lips when Hermione speaks sharply.

"Don't drink that, Ron!"

"Why not?" Ron says.

Hermione is now staring at Harry as though she can't believe her eyes.

"You just put something in that drink."

"Excuse me?" Harry says.

"You heard me. I saw you. You just tipped something into Ron's drink. You've got the bottle in your hand right now!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry says, hastily stowing the bottle in his pocket.

"I'm warning you, Ron, don't drink it!" Hermione says once more.

Ron, however, drains the goblet in one gulp and says, "Stop bossing me around, Hermione."

Hermione looks scandalised. Bending low and lowering her voice so that Ron can't hear, she says, "You should be expelled for that. I'd never have believe it from you, Harry!"

"Look who's talking," Harry whispers back. "Confunded anyone lately?"

She storms up the table away from us. I watch her as she goes, then turn to look at Harry with a frown on my face, not sure if his actions were the best. I then look at Ron, who's smacking his lips.

"Nearly time," Harry says blithely.

As we get to our feet, I pull back, so that Ron is leading the way and I can talk to Harry without him hearing.

"Did you really do what I think you did, Harry?" I whisper.

"I might've," Harry replies indifferently. "Depends on what you think I did."

"Harry," I say, sternly and slightly worried, "listen, I'd love for Ron to do well, and I want Gryffindor to win, too, but do you really think this was a good idea?"

"Yes, actually," Harry answers, as we reach the Great Hall and walk towards the double doors. "I think it was the best decision for the team, Hazel."

I give him a look, before saying, "Not that you aren't a brilliant Captain, Harry, but I really don't think that spiking his pumpkin juice with - "

"What are you two on about?" Ron says, turning around to walk backwards to look at us.

Harry and I glance at each other briefly, before muttering, "Nothing," and drawing level with him.

The frosty grass crunches underfoot as we stride down to the stadium.

"Pretty lucky the weather's this good, eh?" Harry says, and I look at him and resist rolling my eyes with difficulty.

"Yeah," Ron says, pale and sick-looking.

Ginny and Demelza are already in their Quidditch robes and waiting in the changing rooms.

"Conditions look ideal," Ginny says, ignoring Ron. "And guess what? The Slytherin Chaser Vaisey - he took a Bludger to the head during their practice yesterday, and he's too sore to play! And even better than that - Malfoy's gone off sick, too!"

"What?" Harry says, wheeling around to look at her. "He's ill? What happened to him?"

"No idea, but it's great for us," Ginny replies brightly. "They're putting Harper instead. He's in my year and he's an idiot."

A part of me is curious about what sort of illness could've been so bad that he'd skip out on Quidditch - or if this illness is real at all - but the larger part of me is beside myself with happiness. Vaisey is one of Slytherin's best players, and with Malfoy gone and replaced by a less talented player... the knot in my stomach that I've grown to associate with the nerves before a Quidditch match lessens slightly; with a glance at Ron, I start thinking that we're getting quite lucky.

"Fishy, isn't it?" Harry says in an undertone to Ron and I. "Malfoy not playing?"

"Lucky, I call it," Ron says, looking slightly more animated. "And Vaisey's off, too, he's their best goal-scorer, I didn't fancy - hey!" he suddenly freezes, halfway through putting on his Keeper's gloves and staring at Harry.

"What?"

"I... you..." Ron drops his voice, looking both excited and scared. "My drink... my pumpkin juice... you didn't...?"

Harry raises his eyebrows, but says nothing but, "We'll be starting in five minutes, you'd better get your boots on."

We walk onto the pitch to tumultuous roars and boos. One end of the stadium is a solid red and gold. The other side is silver and green. Many Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs have taken sides, too. Amidst all the yelling and clapping, I can distinctly hear the roar of Luna Lovegood's famous lion-topped hat.

Harry steps up to Madam Hooch, the referee, who is standing ready to release the balls from the crate.

"Captains, shake hands," she says, and Harry shakes hands with the Slytherin captain, Urquhart. "Mount your brooms. On the whistle... three... two... one..."

The whistle sounds, and we all kick off hard from the frozen ground, and we're away. As Dean gets hold on the Quaffle first and zooms off towards the Slytherin goalposts, a voice jarringly different to the usual commentator's starts up.

"Well, there they go, and I think we're all surprised to see the team Potter's put together this year. Many thought, due to Ronald Weasley's patchy performance as Keeper last year, that he might be off the team, but of course, a close personal relationship with the Captain does help..."

While I fly by Dean, staying open and ready to catch any pass, I look towards the commentator's podium and see the tall, skinny, blond boy with an upturned nose, talking into the magical megaphone that had once been Lee Jordan's; Zacharias Smith, the Hufflepuff Quiddtch captain, who I heartily dislike.

The sight of him commentating makes me miss Lee more than ever. In my moment of distraction, I hardly notice that Urquhart has taken the Quaffle from Dean, and streak down in an attempt to catch up with him, but it's no good, he reaches the scoring area. I bite down on my lip, hoping for the best.

"Come on, Ron," I mutter, but I needn't worry; Ron intercepts the shot with ease.

" - Weasley saves it - well, he's bound to get lucky sometimes..." Smith's voice says.

"Oh, if only you knew, Smith," I mutter under my breath, grinning, almost grateful for what Harry had done.

Half an hour into the game, Gryffindor is leading sixty to zero, Ron having made some truly spectacular saves, and Ginny having made four of Gryffindor's six goals. This effectively stops Smith from wondering aloud about whether the two Weasleys are only there because Harry likes them. Smith starts on me for a while, but then he stops quickly, since I have the fact that I've played for three years before Harry had become captain, under the rule of two different captains, against him, so he starts on Demelza and Jimmy instead.

"Of course, Peakes isn't the usual build for a Beater," Zacharias says loftily, "they've generally got a bit more muscle - "

As though to prove Smith wrong, Jimmy aims a Bludger at Harper, and I'm pleased to hear the dull thunk that means the Bludger has hit its mark.

It seems as though Gryffindor can do no wrong. Again and again we score, and again and again, on the other side of the pitch, Ron saves goals with apparent ease. He's actually smiling now, and when the crowd greets a particularly nice save with a round of 'Weasley Is Our King' he pretends to conduct them.

The sound of the Gryffindors shouting angrily from below makes me turn around briefly to see that Harper has deliberately collided hard with Harry. I give him a disgusted look, before accepting a pass from Ginny, and flying into the scoring area, shooting, and smiling in triumph as the Quaffle flies through the Slytherin Keeper's fingers.

"And I think Harper's seen the Snitch!" Zacharias Smith says through his megaphone. "Yes, he's certainly seen something Potter hasn't!"

My heart dropping, I turn to see Harper accelerating towards a golden glint in the sky; the snitch. As Harry starts accelerating himself, I snap out of my stupor, grab the Quaffle from Urquhart, and throw it to Dean, who's wide open.

Just as Dean scores, there's the sound of a whistle signalling the end of the game. I look around wildly, hoping desperately to see Harry clutching the snitch, and sure enough, I see him hurtling towards the ground, the Snitch held high above his head.

I let out a loud cheer, catching up to the rest of the team to join their mid-air group hug.

"Ginny, where are you going?" Harry yells.

I look around to see Ginny seeding right past us, until, with an almighty crash, she collides with the commentator's podium. As the crowd shrieks and laughs, the Gryffindor team lands among the wreckage of wood under which Zacharias is feebly stirring.

I can hear Ginny saying blithely to an irate McGonagall, "I forgot to break, Professor, sorry."

After we break into separate hugs, the Gryffindor team leaves the pitch arm in arm, all emnity forgotten, punching the air and waving to our supporters.

The atmosphere in the changing rooms is jubilant.

"Party in the common room, Seamus said!" Dean calls. "C'mon, Ginny, Demelza!"

Harry, Ron, and I are the last in the changing rooms. We're just about to leave when Hermione enters. She is twisting her Gryffindor scarf in her hands and looks upset but determined.

"I want a word with you, Harry," she says. "You shouldn't have done it. You heard Slughorn, it's illegal."

"What are you going to do, turn us in?" Ron demands.

"What are you two talking about?" Harry asks, turning away from us to hang up his robes.

"What the hell d'you mean?" I say, confused. "You spiked Ron's pumpkin juice with Felix Felicis this morning."

"No, I didn't," Harry says, turning back to face us, grinning.

"Yes, you did, Harry," Hermione says impatiently, "that's why everything went right, there were Slytherin players missing and Ron saved everything!"

"I didn't put it in!" Harry says, grinning broadly. He slips inside the pocket of his jacpet and pulls out the tiny bottle that I had seen earlier. It's full to the brim with the golden potion and the cork is still tightly sealed with wax. "I wanted Ron to think I'd done it, so I faked it when I knew you were looking." Harry turns to Ron. "You saved everything because you felt lucky. You did it all yourself."

"There really wasn't anything in my pumpkin juice?" Ron says, astounded. "But the weather was good... and Vaisey couldn't play... I honestly haven't been given lucky potion?"

Harry shakes his head; Ron gapes at him for a moment, then rounds on Hermione, imitating her voice, "'You added Felix Felicis to Ron's juice this morning, that's why he saved everything!' See, I can save goals without help, Hermione!"

"I never said you couldn't - Ron, you thought you'd been given it, too!"

But Ron has already strode past her out the door, with his broomstick over his shoulder.

"Er," Harry says uncomfortably into the sudden silence, obviously not having anticipated his plan to fail like this, "shall... shall we go up to the party, then?"

"You go," Hermione says, blinking back tears. "I'm sick of Ron at the moment, I don't know what I'm supposed to have done..."

And she storms out of the changing rooms.

Harry and I stand in silence for a moment, looking at each other awkwardly, before I clear my throat and say, "Well... off we go, then..."

We walk slowly up the castle grounds through the crowds, many of whom shout congratulations at us, but I barely register them, feeling a great sense of letdown. I had thought that in the euphoria of the match, the problems between Ron and Hermione would've worked themselves out. Not to mention, I don't know how I can possibly explain to Hermione that the thing that she's supposed to have done is kiss Viktor Krum, not when there's not anything  _actually_ wrong with it, not when it had happened so long ago...

"It was a really good idea, though, Harry," I say glumly, as we walk up the marble steps. "That last minute backfire was hardly your fault, anyway."

We can't find Hermione at the Gryffindor celebration party, which is already in full swing when we arrive. Renewed shouts and clapping greets out arrival, and soon there's a mob of people around us, most of their attention on Harry.

"Well... I think I'm going to leave you to deal with this one, mate," I mutter, feeling both amused and irritated, and slip out from between a group of people to talk to Dean and Seamus briefly, still looking around for Ron or Hermione.

After a moment, I find Ginny near the drinks table, Arnold the Pygmy Puff on her shoulder and Crookshanks mewing hopefully at her heels, and break over to talk to her.

"Hi," I greet. "Good game, by the way, you did brilliantly. I particularly appreciated the bit at the end with Zacharias Smith; really well done."

"Thanks," Ginny says, grinning broadly at me. "You did really well, too. Looking for Ron, are you?" she adds to Harry and I, smirking, noticing that I'm distracted, just as Harry joins us, also looking around, clearly having managed to break apart from his group of admirers. "He's over there, the filthy hypocrite."

Harry and I look into the corner she's indicating; there, in full view of the whole common room, stands Ron wrapped so closely around Lavender Brown that it's hard to tell whose hands are whose.

"It's like he's eating her face, isn't it?" Ginny says dispassionately. "But I suppose he's got to refine his technique somehow. Good game, Harry."

She pats him on the arm, then moves away to help herself to more Butterbeer. Crookshanks follows her, his yellow eyes fixed upon Arnold. My eyes stay rooted to Ron and Lavender, though, experiencing a horrible sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

"Where's Hermion - oh, bollocks," I curse under my breath, having turned around to see Hermione hurrying out of the portrait hole.

Harry turns to see her name of bushy brown hair whipping out of sight.

"Oh, did it really have to be  _now_?" I say, looking up into the ceiling momentarily, before hurrying across the common room, making my way through the crowds to reach the portrait hole, Harry behind me.

The corridor outside seems to be deserted.

"Hermione?"

We find her in the first unlocked classroom we try. She is sitting on the teacher's desk, alone except for a small circle of twittering birds around her head, which she clearly had just conjured out of midair. I have to admire her spell-work, even at a time like this.

"Oh, hello, Hazel, Harry," she says in a brittle voice. "I was just practising."

"Yeah... they're really good, Hermione..." I say, rather awkwardly.

I have no idea what to say to her, and before I can think of something comforting, she says, in an unnaturally high-pitched voice. "Ron seems to be enjoying the celebrations."

"Er... does he?" Harry says awkwardly, and I grimace slightly; all I know in this moment is that the worst thing you can do is deny the existence of the problem.

"Don't pretend you didn't see him," Hermione says. "He wasn't exactly hiding, was - ?"

The door behind us bursts open, and to my complete and utter horror, in comes Ron, laughing and pulling Lavender by the hand.

"Oh," Ron says, drawing up short at the sight of Harry, Hermione, and I.

"Oops!" Lavender says, and she backs out of the room, giggling. The door swings shut behind her.

There is a horrible, swelling, billowing silence. Hermione is staring at Ron, who in turn, refused to look at her, but says with an odd mixture of bravado and awkwardness. "Hi, Harry, Hazel! I'd wondered where you got to!"

Hermione slides off the desk. The little flock of birds continue to twitter in circles around her head, so that she looks like a strange, feather model of the solar system.

"You should've leave Lavender waiting outside," she says quietly. "She'll wonder where you've gone."

She walks very slowly and erectly towards the door. I glance at Ron, who looks relieved that nothing worse has happened.

" _Oppugno!_ " comes a shriek from the doorway.

I whip around to see Hermione pointing her wand at Ron, her expression wild; the little flock of birds speed like fat golden bullets toward Ron, who yelps and covers his face with his hands, trying to protect himself, but the birds attack, pecking and clawing at every bit of flesh they can reach.

"Gerremoffme!" he yells, but with one last look of vindictive fury, Hermione wrenches the door open and disappears through it, and I could've sworn I hear a sob before it slams shut.


	11. The Party

**Distance Means Nothing**

**Chapter Eleven: The Party**

 

Snow is swirling against icy windows once more; Christmas is approaching fast. Hagrid has already single-handedly delivered the twelve Christmas trees to the Great Hall; garlands of holly and tinsel have been twisted around the banisters of stairs; everlasting candles glow from insides the helmets of the suits of armour; and great bunches of mistletoe have been hung at intervals along the corridors, and so many girls are trying to end up under the mistletoe with Harry, causing blockages in the corridors, so that we have to go through secret passageways in order to get to class without holding up half the school.

Ron, who might've normally been jealous of Harry's necessity to use these detours, finds it as funny as I do, roaring with laughter at it. Although I much prefer this new laughing, joking Ron over the moody, aggressive version of him that I had to endure for the past few weeks, the improved Ron, of course, comes with a heavy price. Firstly, I have to deal with the frequent presence of Lavender Brown, which I normally wouldn't mind too much, except for the fact that she seems to regard any moment not spent kissing Ron as a moment wasted; and secondly, and worst of all, Harry and I find ourselves to be the best friends of two people who seem unlikely to ever speak to each other again.

Ron, whose hands and forearms still bare cuts and scratches from Hermione's bird attacks is taking a defensive and resentful approach to the situation.

"She can't complain," he tells Harry and I. "She snogged Krum. So she's found out someone wants to snog me, too. Well, it's a free country. I haven't done anything wrong."

I don't answer, and neither does Harry, the both of us pretending to be absorbed in the book we're supposed to have read for Charms the next day. Determined to stay friends with Ron and Hermione, we've gained the habit of keeping our mouths shut tight.

"I never promised Hermione anything," Ron mumbles. "I mean, alright, I was going to go to Slughorn's Christmas party with her, but she never said... just as friends... I'm a free agent..."

I actually bite down my lip to keep myself from speaking. In order to pass off that I'm doing it out of concentration, I turn a page of the book, perfectly aware that Ron is watching me. Ron's voice tails away in mutters, barely audible over the sound of the crackling fire, but I do register 'Krum' and 'Can't complain' again.

Hermione's schedule is so full that I can only talk to her during work periods in Ancient Runes and in the evenings, when Ron, in any case, is so tightly wrapped around Lavender that he doesn't take much notice of anyone else. Hermione refuses to sit in the common room whenever Ron is there, so Harry and I generally join her in the library, so that our conversations are held in whispers.

"He's at perfect liberty to kiss whomever he likes," Hermione whispers, while the librarian, Madam Pince, prowls the shelves behind us. "I really couldn't care less."

She raises her quill and dots her 'i' so ferociously that she punctures a hold in her parchment. I want to say that her ripped parchment would beg to differ, but instead say nothing as usual, thinking that perhaps my voice will vanish from lack of use. Instead, I continue making notes on Everlasting Elixers, pretending to be absorbed in my copy of  _Advanced Potion-Making_.

"And incidentally," Hermione says to Harry after a moment, "you need to be careful."

"For the last time," Harry says in a slightly hoarse voice, "I am not giving back this book. I've learned more from the Half-Blood Prince than Snape or Slughorn taught me in - "

"I'm not talking about your stupid so-called prince," Hermione says, looking at Harry's copy of Advanced Potion-Making with a nasty look, as though it had been rude to her. "I'm talking about earlier. Hazel and I went to the girls' bathroom just before we came in here, and there were about a dozen girls there, including that Romilda Vane, trying to decide on how to slip you a love potion. They're all hoping they'll get you to take them to Slughorn's party, and they all seem to have bought Fred and George's love potions, which I'm afraid to say probably work - "

"Why didn't you confiscate them, then?" Harry demands.

"They didn't have the potions with them in the bathroom," Hermione replies. "They were just discussing tactics. As I doubt the Half-Blood Prince," she gives the book a scornful look, "could dream up an antidote to twelve different love potions at once, I'd just invite someone to go with you, that'll stop the others from thinking they've got a chance. It's tomorrow night, they're getting desperate."

"There isn't anyone I want to invite," Harry mumbles.

I give Harry a disbelieving look, thinking of Ginny, but simply say, hiking my Potions notes upward on the table, "Well, hurry up and find someone, and in the meantime, mind what you drink, because it looked like Romilda Vane meant business."

There's silence for a while, until Harry slowly says, "Hang on a moment. I thought Filch banned anything bought at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes?"

"And since when does anyone pay any attention to what Filch has banned?" I reply, looking up at Harry in surprise.

"But I thought the owls were being searched. So how come these girls are able to bring love potions into the school?"

"Fred and George send them disguised as perfumes and cough potions," Hermione replies. "It's part of their owl order service."

"You know a lot about it."

Hermione gives Harry the same look she had given his copy of  _Advanced Potion-Making_.

"It was on the back of all the bottles they showed us in the summer," Hermione says coldly. "I don't go around putting potions in people's drinks... or pretending to, either, which is just as bad..."

"Well, never mind that," Harry says quickly. "The point is, Filch is being fooled, isn't he? These girls are getting stuff into the school disguised as something else! So why couldn't have Malfoy brought the necklace into the school - ?"

"Oh, Harry... not that again..."

"Come on, why not?" Harry demands.

"Look," I say, sighing and looking up from my Potions notes, "Secrecy Sensors detect jinxes, curses, and concealment charms, right? They're made to find Dark magic and Dark objects. They'd had picked up a powerful curse, like the one in the necklace, in a heartbeat. But something that's only been put in the wrong bottle wouldn't register - anyway, love potions aren't really Dark or dangerous - "

"Easy for you to say," Harry mutters.

" - so it'd really only be down to Filch to realise that it's not actually a cough potion," Hermione presses on, "and he's not a very good wizard, I doubt he can tell one potion from - "

Hermione stops dead. I've heard it, too. Someone has moved close behind them among the dark bookshelves. We wait, and a moment later the vulture-like countenance of Madam Pince appears around the corner, her sunken cheeks, her skin like parchment, and her long hooked nose illuminated by the lamp she's carrying.

"The library is now closed," she says. "Mind you return anything you have borrowed to the correct - what have you done to that book, you depraved boy?"

"It isn't the library's, it's mine!" Harry says hastily, snatching his copy of  _Advanced Potion-Making_ off the table as she lunges at it with a claw-like hand.

"Spoiled!" she hisses. "Desecrated! Befouled!"

"It's just a book that's been written on!" Harry protests, tugging it out of her grip.

"Oh, now you've done it," I hiss, when Madam Pince looks as though she might have a seizure; Hermione and I hastily pack our things, each grab Harry by the arm, and frogmarch him out of the library.

"She'll ban you if you're not careful," I say matter-of-factly. "Why the hell did you tell her that it was  _just_ a book that's been written on? She's a  _librarian_ , for God's sake, Harry."

"Why did you have to bring that stupid book, anyway?" Hermione adds.

"It's not my fault she's barking mad, you two. Or d'you think she overheard you being rude about Filch, Hermione? I've always thought there might've been something between them."

While Hermione sarcastically says, "Oh, ha ha," I turn to Harry and excitedly say, "So I'm not the only one?"

Enjoying the fact that we can speak normally again, we make our way along the deserted lamp-lit corridors back to the common room, arguing whether or not Filch and Madam Pince are secretly in love with each other (if you ask me, their duties in the school, the fact that colleagues working together is a huge problem, and the fact that they're hated all over school and if they became public, they'd just become an even more hated couple, all show that they're keen to keep it a secret. It's definitely forbidden love).

"Baubles," Harry says to the Fat Lady, this being the new festive password.

"Same to you," the Fat Lady says with a roguish grin, and she swings forward to admit us.

"Hi, Harry!" says Romilda Vane, the moment we walk through the portrait hole. "Fancy a gillywater?"

Hermione and I give him an 'What-Did-I-Tell-You' look over our shoulder.

"No thanks," Harry says quickly. "I don't fancy it much."

"Well, take these, anyway," Romilda says, thrusting a box into his hands. "Chocolate Cauldrons, they've got Firewhisky in them. My gran sent them to me, but I don't like them."

"Oh - right - thanks," he says. "Er - I'm just going to go over here with..."

He hurries over behind me, his voice tailing away feebly.

"Told you so," Hermione says succinctly. "Sooner you ask someone, sooner they'll leave you alone, and you can - "

But her face suddenly turns blank; she has just spotted Ron and Lavender, who are intertwined in the same armchair.

"Well, goodnight," she says, though it's barely eight o'clock in the evening, and she leaves for the girls' dormitories without another word. I go to bed that night, truly thinking over for the first time that I myself don't have a date for Slughorn's party. The fact of the matter is that the only person with whom I wanted to go to any sort of party is no longer in the castle, and it'd hardly be reasonable to ask for Fred to come to Hogwarts to go with me on a day's notice. By the time the letter would've reached him, the party would probably already be starting, anyway. In any case, I highly doubt that Fred would much like to drag himself all the way over to Hogwarts to go to some party that Slughorn is organising, especially with all the work he has to do, especially when the party is for a group of people entitled the  _Slug Club_.

I start thinking of people I could ask to go with me, but I'm drawing a complete blank, and I'm starting to wish that I had taken the matter into a bit more consideration earlier. I fall asleep listing names and then realising that I won't be able to take them, for whatever reason.

 

***

 

The next morning, I comfort myself with the fact that I only have one more day of lessons and Slughorn's party to struggle through, then Harry, Ron, and I are departing for the Burrow. I now acknowledge it as impossible for Ron and Hermione to make up before the holidays begin, but perhaps, the break will give them an opportunity to calm down, think better of their behaviour...

But my hopes aren't high, and they sink even lower after Transfiguration. We have just embarked on the immensely difficult topic of human transfiguration; working in front of mirrors, we're supposed to be changing the colour of our own eyebrows. Hermione laughs rather unkindly at Ron's disastrous first attempt, in which he somehow manages to give himself a fantastic handlebar moustache; Ron retaliates by giving a cruel but accurate impression of Hermione jumping up and down in her seat every time Professor McGonagall asks a question, which Lavender and Parvati find very amusing and reduces Hermione to the verge of tears again. She races out of the classroom at the bell, leaving half her things behind; Harry and I, deciding that her need is much greater than Ron's just now, scoop up her remaining possessions and follow after her.

We finally track her down as she emerges from the girls' bathroom a floor below. She is accompanied by Luna Lovegood, who's patting her vaguely on the back.

"Oh, hello, Harry, Hazel," Luna greets. "Did you know one of your eyebrows is bright yellow, Harry?"

"Hi, Luna. Hermione, you left your stuff..."

He holds out her books.

"Oh, yes," Hermione says in a choked voice, taking her things and turning away quickly to hide the fact that she's wiping her eyes on her pencil case. "Thank you, Harry."

There's a moment of silence, and then I quickly say, "Erm, you know, Hermione, I just remembered there's that - erm - book I wanted to borrow from you, remember? Could we just hurry over to our dormitory quickly before class starts up again and get it?"

"Oh, yeah, sure," she says thickly. "Come on..."

Together, we turn around and walk through the corridors. Truth be told, there was no book that I wanted to borrow; I just sensed that Hermione wanted to get away and said the first thing that came to my mind. We don't end up in our dormitory; instead, Hermione ducked into another bathroom that's luckily empty. She sinks into the corner and starts crying, and I sit beside her and put my arm around her, comforting her as best as I can.

Five minutes before break is over, we get to our feet, Hermione dries her tears and washes her face, and we head out of the bathroom arm in arm, talking about Slughorn's Christmas Party.

"You know," Hermione says, after I admit I don't have a date, either, "I think I'm going to take someone that'll really, really bother Ron. I've got to get back at him."

"I suppose you deserve a bit of revenge," I say vaguely.

"I just don't know who yet," she continues.

"Maybe you could try Malfo - " I begin jokingly, but then stop dead, not at the look Hermione gives me, but at the sight of Neville walking across the corridor, an idea suddenly striking me. "Hermione, wait a minute, I'll see you in class. I've got an idea."

"So have I, actually," she mutters. "See you."

I wave, then start hurrying up the corridor, calling, "Oi - Neville! Wait up!"

He stops walking, turning to look at me with a slightly surprised expression on his face.

"What is it?" he asks, once I've caught up to him.

"Erm - well, out of curiosity... what are you doing at eight o'clock tonight?" I ask.

"Um - nothing. Why?" he says, looking at me suspiciously.

"Well, here's the deal: you remember Slughorn and his little meetings with his favourites, right?" I begin, somewhat awkwardly, since Neville is no longer invited to the dinners.

"Yeah," Neville says slowly, "what about them?"

"Well, he's having a Christmas party tonight," I continue. "And we're all supposed to bring dates... and, well, obviously  _everyone_ wants to go to a party as exclusive and exciting as this," I add with a trace of sarcasm, "so... d'you want to go with me? Just as friends, of course, because - well, you know, Fred."

For a moment, he looks extremely surprised.

"You - you'd want to go with me?" he says.

"Yeah, why not? I'm sure you'd be a bloody fantastic date," I reply. "So... d'you want to?"

"Yeah," Neville replies, grinning and nodding. "Yeah, sure, sounds cool."

"Great," I say brightly, and just then, the bell rings. "... and I'm late for class. I'll see you later - say, in the common room around eight?"

"Sure, sounds good," Neville says, nodding once more.

"Cool, see you then," I say, patting his arm, then wave and hurry to class, thinking of excuses and apologies for my lateness.

 

***

 

Hermione and I are not the only ones who have finally gotten ideas for dates; by dinner, the whole school seems to know that Harry Potter is taking Luna Lovegood to Slughorn's Christmas party.

"You could've taken anyone!" Ron says in disbelief over dinner. "Anyone! And you choose Loony Lovegood?"

"Don't call her that, Ron!" Ginny snaps, pausing behind Harry on her way to join her friends. "I'm really glad you're taking her, Harry, she's really excited."

And she moves down the table to sit next to Dean. Near her is Hermione, playing with her stew. I notice Ron looking at her furtively.

"You could say sorry," Harry says bluntly, obviously having noticed Ron, as well.

"What, and get attacked by another flock of canaries?" Ron mutters.

"What did you have to imitate her for?"

"She laughed at my moustache!"

"So did everyone else who saw you, you looked like an idiot! I say.

But Ron seems not to have heard; Lavender has just arrived with Parvati. Squeezing in between Harry and Ron, Lavender flings her arms around Ron's neck.

"Hi, Harry, Hazel," Parvati greets, seeming to be as faintly embarrassed and bored by the behaviour of her two friends as Harry and I.

"Hi," Harry says. "How're you? You're staying at Hogwarts, then? I heard your parents wanted you to leave."

"I managed to talk them out of it for the time being," Parvati says, shrugging. "That Katie thing really freaked them out, but there hasn't been anything since... oh, hi, Hermione!"

Parvati positively beams. I can tell she feels bad for having laughed at Hermione during Transfiguration. I look round and see that Hermione is beaming back, possibly even more brightly.

"Hi, Parvati!" she greets, ignoring Ron and Lavender completely. "Are you going to Slughorn's party tonight?"

"No invite," Parvati replies gloomily. "I'd love to go, though, it sounds like it's going to be really good... you're going, aren't you?"

"Yes, I'm meeting Cormac at eight, and we're - "

There's a noise that sounds quite like a plunger being withdrawn from a blocked sink, and Ron surfaces. Hermione acts as thought she hasn't seen or heard anything, and I look at Hermione in surprise, raising my eyebrows.

" - we're going to the party together."

"Cormac?" Parvati repeats. "Cormac McLaggen, you mean?"

"That's right," Hermione replies sweetly. "The one who  _almost_ \- " she puts a great deal of emphasis on the word - "became Gryffindor Keeper."

"Are you going out with him, then?" Parvati asks, wide-eyed.

"Oh - yes - didn't you know?" Hermione replies, with a most un-Hermione-ish giggle.

"No!" Parvati says, absolutely agog at this new piece of gossip. "Wow, you like your Quidditch players, don't you? First Krum, then McLaggen..."

"I like  _really good_ Quidditch players," Hermione corrects, still smiling, and I almost choke on my pumpkin juice at the comment. "Well, see you... got to go and get ready for the party..."

And she walks away. I watch her walking for a moment, shaking my head and torn between disapproval and amusement. As Lavender and Parvati put their heads together to discuss this new development, talking about everything they've heard about McLaggen and everything they've guessed about Hermione, Ron looks strangely blank and says nothing, and Harry looks thoughtful, I gather my stuff and get to my feet.

"If you'll all excuse me," I say, giving them a small, sarcastic bow, before hurrying over to catch up to Hermione. Once I draw level with her, I say, "Excuse me, Hermione Granger, but I've got a few questions for you."

"Ask away," she says, her sweet, giggly tone gone, but still smiling slightly.

"You're taking McLaggen to the ball?" I demand.

"I believe that's what I said back there, yes," she confirms.

"Have you lost your mind? Cormac  _McLaggen_ , I ask you, Hermione..."

"I told you, Hazel," she insists, as we reach the Entrance Hall and head up the marble staircase, "I want to go with someone that'd bother Ron. It was between him and Smith, and I decided McLaggen would be - "

"Hang on a minute," I say, actually stopping dead halfway up the stairs and holding up a hand. "You considered  _Smith_? As in  _Zacharias Smith_?"

She nods. At the furiously incredulous look I give her, she adds, "Well, you know Ron doesn't like him - "

"Nobody likes him!" I burst out.

" - and especially after the comments he made about Ron at the last match, I'd figured it would bug Ron if I went with him, but I decided in the end that McLaggen would be better, because he was the one that almost ended up being Keeper instead of him," Hermione continues, as though I had not interrupted her.

"Hermione, you're going to end up torturing yourself for a bit of revenge," I say, shaking my head as we resume in walking up the stairs.

"Like you wouldn't do the same," she scoffs.

I look at her for a moment, rather thoughtful; then, I say, "Touché."

 

***

 

I finish getting ready ten minutes before I'm supposed to meet Neville. Deciding that I won't hurt to go down a little bit early, I look in the mirror once more contemplatively to make sure I look okay. My hair falls in waves down my back; deciding to go a little festive for the occasion, my dress is red and goes down to my knees. Once I decide I look satisfactory, I walk across the dormitory, open the door, and head for the common room.

Luckily, Neville is down in the common room, his hair is combed to perfect neatness and wearing dress robes of navy blue. I walk over to stand beside him.

"Hey, Hazel," he greets, giving me a small wave. "You - er - you look nice."

"Thanks, you look pretty nice yourself," I say, grinning and giving a sarcastic curtsy.

He laughs at that, then says, "So... should we get going, then?"

"That'll be a good idea, yes," I agree, nodding. "We'd better not be late for the party of the century."

The sarcastic tone in my voice make him laugh as we walk over to the portrait hole.

"You know, it seems like everyone who doesn't get to go is dying to, and everyone who does get to go would rather not," he points out to me, as we scramble through the portrait hole.

"Funny how life always seems to work out that way," I agree, nodding as we straighten up again and start walking down the corridor. "In all fairness, though, there does seem to be some people in the Slug Club who want to go - "

"Wait," he says, looking at me with raised eyebrows, "the  _Slug Club_?"

"I know," I say, nodding at the look on his face. "That's what I thought when I first heard him say it. Damn Slughorn, he's used the term enough times for it to stick, and I always feel like such a prat whenever I use it."

"You sound like a prat, too," Neville informs me.

"Shut up, Neville," I say, shoving him lightly but grinning.

He just laughs, raising his hand in surrender.

"I'm just telling it like it is. Not my fault the truth hurts."

I roll my eyes, shaking my head and smiling, "You are a git."

He just shrugs, still grinning.

We walk in silence for a few minutes, until he suddenly blurts out, "Er - this is alright, isn't it?"

"What is?" I ask, looking round at him in confusion.

"Me, like, you know, being your date. That is fine, isn't it?" he elaborates.

"Erm - yes? I asked you, didn't I, why wouldn't it be fine?" I reply, still confused.

"No - I mean - I know it's fine with you, but I mean... with Fred," he says. "Because I know you two are dating, and I don't want to bother him - not that I really think I'm competition, I know you like him too much, anyway - and I know I'm a bit late, since we're already going, but I don't want to bother you or him or you  _and_ him, so - "

I start laughing, unable to help it at the sight of him so nervous over something like this.

"Neville, don't worry about it," I say, cutting him off. "I mean... technically speaking, Fred doesn't actually know, but - but I'm sure he'll be fine with it," I add quickly, seeing the look on his face. "I'm seeing him over the holiday, so I'll tell him then. Don't worry about it, Neville, I mean it, when I tell him that we're only going as friends, he'll get it - and if he doesn't... then I'll make him get it. Either way, it shouldn't be too hard, because if I was cheating on him with you, I wouldn't tell him about it so willingly, would I?"

"Right," he says slowly. "Right... and if that doesn't work, I'll go over and, like, swear on my life there's nothing going on between us. I just don't want to ruin anything between you two."

I smile at his thoughtfulness, before patting his shoulder and saying reassuringly, "Don't worry about it, mate, you won't. Now, let's go have a fantastic time. You know, I heard there's going to be a vampire there - now  _that's_ a party."

He laughs and says, "This should definitely be interesting."

As we start approaching Slughorn's office, the sound of laughter, music, and loud conversation grow with every step we take. Neville and I look at each other with slightly raised eyebrows.

"Interesting's definitely a word," I agree.

When we reach Slughorn's office, we stop dead, staring in shock; clearly Slughorn has used some sort of magic, because his office is much larger than usual. The ceiling and walls have been draped with emerald, crimson, and gold hangings, so that it looks like we're inside a vast tent. The room is crowded and stuffy and bathed in red light cast by an ornate golden lamp dangling from the centre of the ceiling in which real fairies are fluttering, each a brilliant speck of light. Loud singing accompanied by what sounds like mandolins issue from a distant corner; a haze of pipe smoke hangs over several elderly warlocks deep in conversation, and a number of house-elves are making their way squeakily through a forest of knees, obscured by the heavy silver platters of food that they're bearing, so that they look like little roving tables.

"Hazel!" Slughorn booms soon after we squeeze through the door, wearing a tasselled velvet hat to match his smoking jacket. "Come in, come in, I'm delighted to see you here! And - ah - Neville Longbottom, so we meet again! You've taken a shine to him, have you?" he asks me, then adds, before I can answer. "There's nothing going on here, is there?"

"Oh, no, you've got it wrong, sir - " Neville says, at the same time I say, "It's not like that, Professor, we're actually - "

Slughorn cuts us off by laughing, waving an airy hand at us.

"Ah, don't worry, you don't have to explain these sorts of things to me!" he says, before leaning in slightly and saying, "I may be old, but I still know romance when I see it!"

"I think he might've gone blind," Neville mutters, and I suppress a laugh with difficulty.

"Well, you two make yourselves right at home," he says, smiling knowingly at us - if only he actually did know. "Eat. Mingle. Enjoy."

With that, he bustles away.

"You know, that I think Fred might mind," I mumble.

"Well... just.. break it to him gently, I suppose," Neville says, shrugging slightly, "otherwise he might  _never_ get over the fact that Professor Slughorn reckons that we're a couple."

I burst out laughing.

"Good point," I say, grinning, as we move through the packed office, trying to find someone we know. "God knows I'd never get over such a devastating blow."

"I'm utterly heartbroken, and I'm not even a part of this relationship," Neville states sarcastically, and I let out another laugh.

Finally, unable to find anyone, we each grab some of the food, a goblet of mead, and stand somewhere near a corner, looking around for people we know and talk animatedly while eating and drinking.

"Hey, I think those two blokes are from the Weird Sisters," Neville says, nodding somewhere ahead of him.

"Where?" I demand, quickly and loudly, looking around wildly and almost dropping my goblet of mead. "Oh, blimey, Slughorn really wasn't lying about all his famous exploits, was he? We're going to have to talk to them later, Neville, I hope you know."

"Yes, I'd assumed you'd want to," Neville says, nodding. "I reckon this is either going to be really great or really embarrassing."

"Let's go with the first one," I advise. "I mean, all we have to do is walk up to them and - "

"And what?" a voice behind us says.

We whirl around to see a tall, emaciated, pale man with dark shadows under his eyes. I stare at him blankly, before looking over at Neville and seeing that he looks just as lost as I feel.

Finally, I look back at the man and slowly say, "Er... no offence... but do we know you?"

The man smiles slightly in a way that looks more like a leer than anything.

"Ah, allow me to introduce myself," he says, bowing slightly. "My name is Sanguini."

It then registers that this is bound to be the vampire that everyone had been whispering about. My eyes dart over to Neville, and he catches my eye, his curiously excited and apprehensive expression telling me he's just come to the same realisation.

"Er - my name's Hazel Knight," I introduce myself, looking back at Sanguini, then gesture to Neville and say, "And this is my friend, Neville Longbottom."

"Pleasure to meet you both," he says, inclining his head towards us.

I'd quite like to ask what the hell about us has interested him, but think that might come out rude, so instead, Neville and I continue to make polite conversation with him. Throughout our conversation, I notice him coming slightly closer to me, his eyes unusually trained on me, and feeling rather uncomfortable, I shift backward slightly, but regardless, soon he's right in front of me, and the slightly hungry expression on his face is extremely unsettling.

"Are you hungry, Sanguini?" Neville blurts out, clearly having noticed.

"You know, Neville, I think he is," I say, look around wildly, then notice Pearlie walking with a silver platter of food over her head. "Hey, Pearlie! Can you come over here, our lovely - er - friend here is hungry!"

"Yes, miss!" Pearlie says, hurrying over.

Once she's beside us, I grab the entire silver platter and thrust it towards Sanguini.

"Help yourself," I say, smiling pleasantly.

He looks down at the food, then back up at me with, and mutters crossly, "I'm fine, thank you."

He stalks away, and I let out a slight sigh of relief, giving the tray back to Pearlie with a nod and a mouthed, 'Thank you.'

A few moments later, a small, stout, bespectacled man hurries towards us, slightly out of breath.

"Hello - you - you'll be the girl Sanguini - erm - socialised with?" he asks of me.

"That's one way to put it yes," I say, shrugging and nodding.

"My name is Eldred Worple, and I'd like to apologise for my friend's behaviour," he says earnestly. "You see, he has a particular liking for younger... erm..." he looks at me uncomfortably for a moment, "younger... well, you know."

It's obvious that he means younger  _girls,_ but Neville says, "No, actually, I don't know. Mind explaining further?"

I look round at him in surprise, thinking it'd be obvious, but then notice the look on Neville's face and realise he's playing with Worple. I look round at Worple, trying not to laugh, and see him looking very uncomfortable.

"Younger... well, you know, younger... y-younger.. oh, never mind. Forget I said it. Again, I apologise for my guest's behaviour. I will try harder to control him from now on."

"Apology accepted," I say, suppressing laughter with difficulty. "And you might want to start now, because he's been staring at that group of girls for a while now."

I nod over in the direction of Sanguini, who's staring with worrying intensity at a nearby group of girls, who keep glancing back at him.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake!" Worple mutters, looking exasperated, and hurries away with further ado.

Once he's gone, Neville and I burst out laughing.

"That was brilliant, Neville!" I say earnestly, nearly spilling my goblet of mead from laughing so hard. Once we've calmed down, I spot a mane of bushy brown hair hurrying through the crowd, and grin broadly. "Come on, let's see how Hermione's holding out with a git like McLaggen as her date."

Without further ado, I grab onto Neville's wrist and follow her, until we draw level with her, where she's standing with Harry and Luna.

"Oh, thank goodness I've found you four," Hermione says, when we join her, looking relieved.

"What's happened to you?" I ask, surprised, because she looks distinctly dishevelled, as though she has just found her way out of a thicket of Devil's Snare.

"Oh, I've just escaped - I mean, I've just left Cormac," Hermione replies. "Under the mistletoe," she adds, when we continue to look questioningly at her.

"Serves you right for coming with him," Harry says severely.

"I thought it'd annoy Ron the most," Hermione says dispassionately. "I debated on Zacharias Smith for a while, but on the whole, I decided - "

"You considered  _Smith_?" Harry says, looking disgusted.

"That's what I said," I mutter.

"Yes, I did, and I'm starting to wish I had chosen him, McLaggen makes Grawp look like a gentleman. Let's go this way, we'll be able to see him coming, he's so tall..."

The five of us make our way over to the other side of the room, realising too late that Professor Trelawney is standing there alone.

"Hello," Luna says politely to Trelawney.

"Good evening, my dear," Trelawney says, focusing upon Luna with some difficulty; I detect the smell of cooking sherry from her. "I haven't see you in my classes this year..."

"No, I've got Firenze this year," Luna explains.

"Oh, of course," Trelawney says, with an angry, drunken titter. "Or Dobbin, as I prefer to think of him. You would have thought, would you not, that now that I am returned to the school, Professor Dumbledore might get rid of the horse? But no... we share classes... it's an insult, frankly, an insult... do you know..." she continues on her rant, but the oddest thing to me is that in how drunk she is, she hasn't noticed Harry and fawned over how tragic he is.

Under cover of Trelawney's furious rants about Firenze, Harry whispers to Hermione, "Let's get something straight. Are you planning to tell Ron that you interfered at the Keeper tryouts?"

Hermione raises her eyebrows and says, "D'you really think I'd stoop that low?"

"Hermione, if you can ask  _McLaggen_ \- " Harry begins, looking at her shrewdly.

"There's a difference," Hermione says with dignity. "I've got no plans to tell Ron what might, or might not, have happened at Keeper tryouts."

"Good," Harry says fervently. "Because he'll just fall apart again, and we'll lose the match - "

"Quidditch!" Hermione says angrily. "Is that all boys care about? Cormac hasn't asked me a single question about myself, no, I've just been treated to 'A Hundred Great Saves Made By Cormac McLaggen' nonstop ever since - oh, no, here he comes!"

She moves so quickly she might have Disapparated; one minute she is there, the next she has squeezed between two guffawing witches and vanished.

"Seen Hermione?" McLaggen asks, forcing his way through the throng a moment later.

"Nope, haven't seen her all night," I reply, then turn to zone into Luna's conversation, having forgotten to whom she's talking.

"Harry Potter!" Trelawney says in deep, vibrant tones, having noticed him for the first time, and I groan internally.

"Oh, hello," Harry says unenthusiastically.

"My dear boy!" she says in a carrying whisper. "The rumours! The stories! 'The Chosen One!' Of course, I have known for a very long time... the omens were never good, Harry... but why haven't you returned to Divination? For you, now, this subject is of the utmost importance!"

"Ah, Sybil, we all think our subject's the most important!" a loud voice says, and Slughorn appears at her side, his face very red, his hat slightly askew, a glass of mead in one hand and an enormous mince pie in the other. "But I don't think I've ever known such a natural at Potions!" Slughorn states, regarding Harry with a fond, if bloodshot, eye. "Instinctive, you know - like his mother! I've only taught a few with this kind of ability, Sybil, I can tell you that! Why even Severus - " and to my horror, Slughorn throws out an arm and seems to scoop Professor Snap out of thin air in front of us. "Stop sulking and come join us, Severus!" hiccups Slughorn happily. "I was just talking about Harry's exceptional potion-making. Some credit must go to you, of course, you taught him for five years!"

Trapped, with Slughorn's arm around his shoulders, Snape looks down his hooked nose at Harry, his black eyes narrowing.

"Funny, I had the impression that I never managed to teach Potter anything at all."

"Well, then, it's a natural ability!" booms Slughorn. "You should have seen what he gave me, first lesson, Draught of Living Death - never had a student produce finer on their first attempt, I don't even think you, Severus - "

"Really?" Snape says quietly, his eyes still boring into Harry's.

"Remind me what other subjects you're taking, Harry?" Slughorn asks.

"Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Herbology..."

"All the subjects required, in short, for an Auror," Snape remarks, with a slight sneer.

"Yeah, well, that's what I'd like to do," Harry says defiantly.

"And a great one you'll make, too!" Slughorn says.

"I don't think you should be an Auror, Harry," Luna says unexpectedly, and everyone turns to look at her. "The Aurors are a part of the Rotfang Conspiracy, I thought everyone knew that. They're planning to bring down the Ministry of Magic from within using a combination of Dark Magic and gum disease."

Harry inhales half his mead up his nose as he starts to laugh, and I choke on my own mead, so that Neville has to thump me on the back until I'm better. Luna's theories, as off and mad as they might be, could often be a source of amusement. Then I see something that raises my spirits even higher; Draco Malfoy being dragged by the ear towards us by Argus Filch.

"Professor Slughorn," Filch wheezes, his jowls acquiver and the maniacal light of mischief-detection in his eyes, "I discovered this boy lurking in the upstairs corridor. He claims to have been invited to your party and to have been delayed in setting out. Did you issue him an invitation?"

Malfoy wrenches himself out of Filch's grip, looking furious.

"Alright, I wasn't invited!" he admits angrily. "I was trying to gate crash, happy?"

"No, I'm not!" Filch says, a statement at complete contrast to the glee on his face. "You're in trouble, you are! Didn't the headmaster say nighttime prowling's out, unless you've got permission, didn't he?"

"That's alright, Argus, that's alright," Slughorn says, waving a hand. "It's Christmas, and it's not a crime to want to come to a party. Just this once, we'll forget any punishment. You may stay, Draco."


	12. All the Time in the World

**Distance Means Nothing**

**Chapter Twelve: All the Time in the World**

 

"So Snape was offering to help him? He was definitely offering to help him?" Ron asks for the umpteenth time.

"If you ask that once more," Harry says, "I'm going to stick this sprout - "

"I'm only checking!" Ron protests.

We're standing alone at the Burrow's kitchen sink, peeling a mountain of sprouts for Mrs. Weasley. Snow is drifting past the window in front of us. Harry has just told us about the conversation he had overheard Snape and Malfoy having the night of Slughorn's Christmas party.

"Yes, Snape was offering to help him!" says Harry. "He said he'd promised Malfoy's mother to protect him, that he'd made the Unbreakable Oath or something - "

"An Unbreakable Vow?" I say, stunned. "No, he can't have... are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," Harry says. "Why? What does it mean?"

"Well, you can't break an Unbreakable Vow," Ron says slowly.

"I'd worked that much out for myself, funnily enough. Go on, what happens when you break it, then?"

"You die," Ron replies simply. "Fred and George tried to get me to make one when I was five. I nearly did, too, I was holding hands with Fred and everything when Dad came in and found us. He went mental," he continues, with a reminiscent gleam in his eyes. "Only time I've ever seen Dad as angry as Mum. Fred reckons his left buttock has never been the same since."

"Yeah, well, passing over Fred's left buttock - "

"I beg your pardon?" says Fred, as he and George enter the kitchen. "Aah, George, look at this. They're using knives and everything. Bless them."

"I'll be seventeen in two and a bit months' time," Ron states grumpily, while I roll my eyes, "And then I'll be able to do it by magic!"

"But meanwhile," George says, sitting down at the kitchen table and putting his feet up on it, "we can enjoy watching you demonstrate the correct use of - whoops-a-daisy!"

"You made me do that!" Ron says angrily, sucking his cut thumb. "You wait, when I'm seventeen - "

"I'm sure you'll dazzle us all with hitherto suspected magical skills," Fred yawns.

"And speaking of hitherto unsuspected skills, Ronald," George adds, "what's this we hear from Ginny about you and a young lady called - unless our information is faulty - Lavender Brown?"

Ron turns pink, but doesn't look displeased as he turns back to his sprouts.

"Mind your own business."

"What a snappy retort," Fred says. "I really don't know how you think of them. No, what we wanted to know was... how did it happen?"

"What d'you mean?"

"Did she have an accident or something?"

"What?" Ron says, now looking completely lost.

"Well, how did she sustain such extensive brain damage? Careful, now!"

Mrs. Weasley enters the room just in time to see Ron throw his sprout knife at Fred, who turns it into a paper airplane with one lazy flick of his wand.

"Ron!" Mrs. Weasley says furiously. "Don't you ever let me see you throwing knives again!"

"I won't," Ron says, "let you see," he adds under his breath, as he turns back to the sprout mountain.

"Fred, George, I'm sorry, dears, but Remus is arriving tonight, so Bill will have to squeeze in with you two."

"No problem," George says.

"Then, as Charlie isn't coming home, that just leaves Harry and Ron in the attic, and if Fleur shares with Ginny and Hazel - "

"That'll make Ginny's Christmas," Fred mutters, while my excitement at Remus coming is replaced with dread; not that I hate Fleur or anything, but I'd rather not spend my holiday making sure that Ginny doesn't murder Fleur, which I'm sure going to end up doing if Fleur's going to be sleeping in the same room as us.

" - everyone should be comfortable. Well, they'll have a bed, anyway." Mrs. Weasley continues, sounding harassed.

"Percy's definitely not showing his ugly face, then?" Fred says.

Mrs. Weasley turns away as she answers, "No, he's busy, I expect, at the Ministry."

"Or he's the world's biggest prat," Fred says, as Mrs. Weasley leaves the kitchen. "One of the two. Well, let's get going, George."

"What are you two up to?" Ron asks. "Can't you help us with these sprouts? You could just use your wands and we'll be free, too!"

"No, I don't think we can do that," Fred says seriously. "It's very character-building stuff, learning to peel sprouts without magic, makes you appreciate how difficult it is for Muggles and Squibs - "

" - and if you want people to help you, Ron," George adds, throwing the paper airplane at him, "I wouldn't chuck knives at them. Just a little hint. We're off to the village, there are a bunch of people there, including a really pretty girl who works in the paper shop, that think my card tricks are something marvellous... almost like real magic..."

Before they leave, Fred (who had reacted even better than I was expecting about me taking Neville to Slughorn's party; one, because he's long since moved past being threatened by other blokes, and two, because he can't take any event that's for an organisation called The Slug Club seriously to begin with) glances at the small pile of sprouts I have in front of me, and waves his wand; I look back down and see all the sprouts in the pile have been peeled. I look up at him, smiling slightly, but he just winks at me before following George out the door.

I look back round at Harry and Ron, and at the furiously incredulous look on the latter's face, I grin and say, grabbing another sprout, "Oh, don't get all moody. I'll still help."

"Gits," Ron says darkly, watching Fred and George set off across the snowy yard. "Would've only taken them ten seconds and then we could've gone, too."

"I couldn't have," Harry says. "I promised Dumbledore I wouldn't wander off while I'm staying here."

"Oh, yeah," Ron says.

After a pause, in which we all peel a few more sprouts, I say, "Are you going to tell Dumbledore about what you heard Snape and Malfoy say to each other?"

"Yep," Harry nods. "I'm going to tell anyone who can put a stop to it, and Dumbledore's at the top of the list. I might have another word with your dad, too, Ron."

"It's a pity you didn't hear what Malfoy's actually doing, though," Ron says.

"That's the whole point, though," Harry says. "He was refusing to tell Snape."

There's silence for a moment or two, then Ron says, "'Course, you know what they'll all say? Dad and Dumbledore and all of them? They'll say Snape isn't trying to help Malfoy, he's just trying to find out what he's up to."

"They didn't hear him," Harry says flatly. "No one's that good of an actor, not even Snape."

"Yeah... I'm just saying, though," Ron says, shrugging.

Harry turns to face him, frowning. "You do believe me, though, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do!" Ron says hastily. "Seriously, I do! but they're all convinced Snape's in the Order, aren't they?"

Harry and I don't say anything to that, knowing he has a point. Even I'm slightly unconvinced that Snape is really trying to help Malfoy, because there's only so many times you can be proven wrong about a person... besides, so many other people - including Dumbledore - truth him, it's hard to even convince yourself, let alone others...

We continue peeling sprouts in silence for a moment, until the topic drifts over to the situation with Ron and Hermione. Ron gets into another one of his rants about how he didn't promise her anything, and she went off to Slughorn's party with McLaggen, anyway, and Harry and I continue our habit of not speaking, determined to stay friends with both Ron and Hermione throughout this entire stupid fight.

"... and, besides, I didn't promise her anything, if she can go around and snog Krum and go to parties with McLaggen, I can kiss whoever I want," he finishes, then groans, "why are girls so complicated?"

"Well, they're not," I say matter-of-factly, speaking for the first time in nearly half an hour, peeling a sprout. "Not really, anyway. Okay, well," I say, at the incredulous look Harry and Ron give me, "I suppose we are a bit complicated, but we're not much more complicated than guys, anyway. It's just that sometimes we do things you lot don't get, and instead of bothering to figure it out, you just write us off as complicated, because that's what's easier. I mean," I continue thoughtfully, "I suppose girls do it to blokes sometimes, but not nearly as much, so..."

"And how would you know all this?" Ron asks, eyebrows raised.

I look up from my sprout to give him a disbelieving look.

"Ron, most of my friends are blokes," I state, "how the hell d'you think I know all this?"

"Oh, right," he says slowly. "Well, still, it's easy for you to say it when you haven't got to figure it out."

"I may not have to figure out girls, but I've got to figure out guys, and that's no easy task," I snort ( _At least, your brother isn't,_ I think). "Just... figure it out, I suppose, nothing else to it. And until then, stop snogging all the bloody time, and not even because of Hermione. If another innocent student has to see you two sucking each other's faces off, there's going to have to be daily visits to the hospital wing."

Again, Ron turns bright pink, but doesn't look entirely displeased as he mumbles something that sounds a lot like, "Don't tell me what to do," and, "Shut up."

 

***

 

Later that day, Ginny and I are sitting by the fire, eating Chocolate Frogs and swapping cards, talking animatedly all the while. After a while, though, we decide that if we consume any more chocolate, we'll either explode or get very, very sick (maybe both, though not in that order), and we stop. After that, we sit there in complete and utter boredom, arguing back and forth what we ought to do.

"Want to play Exploding Snap?" she suggests after a while.

"That's an idea," I say brightly, sitting up straighter.

"Brilliant," Ginny says. "Go and get your pack, will you, I'm really comfortable and don't feel like moving."

I stare at her, frowning and crossing my arms.

"And what if  _I'm_ comfortable?" I retort. "It was  _your_ idea to play."

"Exactly, and to repay me for my brilliant idea, you go and get your pack," she says easily, shrugging. "Besides, Knight, this is my house. My rules."

"Oh, fine, have it your way," I say, getting to my feet and stretching. "But don't let your mum hear you going around thinking that this house abides by your rules."

"Ah, you're so nice to me, Hazel," she says, grinning up at me cheekily.

"Oh, shut up, Weasley," I say, rolling my eyes. "Or I'll shove the pack of cards up your - "

"Careful, now!" she warns, laughing. "Might want to watch your language."

"You're one to talk," I say, rolling my eyes, making her laugh, and I set off across the sitting room, upstairs for the room that I share with Ginny, and now Fleur.

Once I reach the room, I spend a good five minutes looking for my pack of cards (I  _really_ need to learn how to pack more neatly). When, at last, I find the pack of cards, I extract it with a soft, triumphant, "Aha!" while the door opens and closes. Expecting it to be Fleur, I do nothing but give a small, "Hey," before getting to my feet and turning around.

I had expected it to be Fleur, which is why I'm extremely surprised to see Fred right in front of me, a smirk on his face as he looks down at me.

"Hello, Knight."

"You're not Fleur," I blurt out.

"Well spotted," he says, his smirk widening. "I'm definitely not a blonde, French, part-Veela who's engaged to my brother."

I let out a small laugh, before quickly saying, "Right, sorry - obviously you're not Fleur - it's just - I was expecting - what are you doing here?" I finish rather lamely.

"It had occurred to me that I hadn't yet given you a proper greeting," Fred replies, moving even closer to me, and just like that, it's impossible to think straight. "And after four months, I figured that that proper greeting was in order right... about... now."

And with that, he kisses me, wrapping his arms around my waist. Smiling slightly against his lips, I kiss him back, moving my hands up to rest on his shoulders, practically revelling in the moment after not being able to see him and be with him for so long.

"Merlin, I missed you s-so - so much," he breathes between kisses, pulling me closer to him.

"C-Course you did," I tease, moving one of my hands down to rest on his chest. "I'm the l-life of any party."

"And I'm the arrogant git?" Fred says, pulling away from me to look at me with raised eyebrows.

"Yes," I say, grinning. "Glad we've finally agreed on this; to think, it only took six years."

"Oh, shut up," he says, rolling his eyes but smiling.

"Make me," I say, smiling cheekily up at him.

"Gladly," he says, and kisses me once more without further ado.

I wrap my arms around his neck, one of my hands still holding the pack of cards, the other going up to tangle in his hair, while his hands run up and down my body, before wrapping them around my waist again, one of his hands going to the small of my back to push me even closer to him.

"See - this was the method of action I was hoping you'd take," I say breathlessly, when we pull away briefly to draw breath.

"Really?" he says, smirking slightly at me. "Good, because I quite like it, too. Maybe I should do it more often."

I pull him to me and kiss him again, before saying, "Maybe you should."

"It's almost a shame, though," he says between kisses. "I had so many other ideas."

"Like - like what?" I ask.

"Like - Trick Wands, Electric Shock Shakes," he replies, smiling, "Canary Creams... the list goes on and on..."

"You'd - you'd never do - it," I say.

"And - why not?" he says.

"Because - because you know I'd - kill you if you did," I reply, before pulling him in for a particularly long kiss.

"Ah, you know you'd never kill me, Knight," he says, pulling away from me and grinning.

"Maybe not," I say, shrugging. "But I'd get you back twice as bad."

"And that," he says, grinning broadly, "is why I don't mess with you that much - 'course, I still do mess with you a little; makes life more interesting."

I raise my eyebrows slightly.

"You're smarter than you look, then, Weasley," I state, grinning.

"I look just as smart as I am, thank you," he says matter-of-factly. "It's just that you don't want to admit that I'm basically perfect. If only I could figure out why you're so insistent on denying it."

I roll my eyes.

"Because if I ever said I thought that - which I don't, mind you, I definitely don't," I add quickly, "you'd never let me forget it. I'm sure you'd remind me on my death bed."

"Not  _on_ your death bed!" Fred protests, pretending to look offended. "Honestly, Knight, I thought you knew me better than that. Maybe on the  _way_ to your death bed, but never  _on_ your death bed."

"Because that's so much better," I say, shaking my head at him but still smiling. "You're ridiculous."

"Only for you," he says, grinning. "Besides, you know you like it."

"Mhmm, you've got a point there," I muse. "Though, it never really took much of a genius to figure that out."

"I never figured it out," he says, frowning.

"Well, I never called you a genius, did I?" I tease.

"I hate you, Hazel," Fred says, though he moves closer to me.

"Sure you do," I say sarcastically, and with that, I close the space between us, kissing him.

I can hear him smiling against my lips, and finally toss the pack of cards aside on the bed at the realisation, taking full advantage of having both of my hands free by running them through his hair and tugging on it occasionally, playing with it with my fingers. He pushes me up against the wall of the bedroom, one hand wrapped loosely around my waist, the other on my upper back.

"Alright, fine, you got me," he mutters, pulling away momentarily. "I don't hate you."

"Yes, I assumed that much," I reply, smiling, grab a fistful of the front of his shirt, and pull him to me again in a kiss.

"Aren't you just so clever, then?" he mumbles against my lips. "My clever girl."

"I like the sound of that," I admit, smiling slightly.

"Really?" he says. "Hmm, so do I. I like the sound of a lot of things, though," he says, before kissing me briefly and adding, "I like the sound of 'mine'," he continues. "And 'yours. And 'ours'. But I mostly like 'you'."

I smile, moving slightly away from him, shaking my head slightly.

"You're so cheesy," I say.

"But I mean it."

"I never called you a liar," I say in a low voice, pulling him towards me again. "Besides, I agree wholeheartedly. I like the sound of all that, too."

With that, I kiss him again, bringing him closer to me, kissing him slowly and languidly, because there's no need to rush, is there? He smiles into the kiss, bringing his hands to my hair and playing with it with his fingers.

"D'you know," I say between kisses after a moment, "Ginny and Fleur could walk in at any moment. Maybe Ginny's wondering why the hell it's taking me so long to get a pack of Exploding Snap cards."

Fred pulls away long enough to pull out his wand, point it at the door, and with a flick of his wand, I can tell that he's locked the door at the sound of the familiar odd squelching noise. "Not anymore."

"God, you're brilliant," I say, grinning broadly at him.

"It's about time you admitted it," he says, grinning back at me. "And now that we haven't go to worry about anyone rudely interrupting, I think we were in the middle of something..."

"I think you're right," I say slowly, and the moment the words leave my mouth, he leans in and kisses me. After a few moments of the bliss, though, I remember something and pull away rather abruptly, leaving him to let out a low groan, which would've made me smirk under any other circumstance. "What was it you were going to tell me over the summer?"

"What are you talking about?" Fred asks, frowning slightly and looking lost.

"During the summer," I begin, "when we were all visiting Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. You were going to tell me something, but then George came in, and then I asked you what you were going to say when he left, and you just said it was nothing. What was that all about?"

For a second, Fred looks nervous, causing me to feel very surprised. Okay, sure, whenever I had dwelled upon the moment, I had always figured that it wouldn't be something minor - or, at least, not to him - otherwise he'd just tell me, wouldn't he? Still, I had never imagined it was something that would merit the amount of nerves he seems to be having to endure. What could be so awful that he seems so nervous to tell me? Does he think I'll be angry? Or upset? For a split second, I become extremely paranoid that he's about to break the worst news possible to me, but then I try to relax myself again; how bad can it be?

"You - you can tell me," I add, in a considerably more gentle voice than before. "It's alright, you can - you can tell me anything - if you'd like, obviously," I add quickly, suddenly thinking that perhaps the reason he hadn't gotten around to telling me is because he just doesn't want me to know. But then again, clearly he wants me to know, even a little bit, because he wouldn't have brought it up if he didn't, would he?

And just like that, at my words, the nervous expression on Fred's face melts of, and he looks at me with a grin that looks somewhat forced.

"Ah, don't you worry about that, Knight," he says, waving an airy hand. "We've got time, haven't we? We've got all the time in the world..."

"Right," I say slowly, nodding and trying not to feel uneasy. Then I give him a smile to match his and cheekily say, "And speaking of time, I reckon it's  _time_ I get back to Ginny, she'll be wondering where I've gone off..."

"But we - I - oh, come on, Knight, Ginny'll live," he says, slightly desperately.

"And so will you," I reply, smiling slightly wider, more genuinely, as I go over to the bed and pick up the pack of cards.

"I haven't seen you in four months!" he protests. "She has!"

"Well, you can get a good look at me over the break, if you'd like," I say, somewhat jokingly. "Besides, it's like you said, isn't it? We've got all the time in the world."

Fred frowns.

"This is  _not_ what I was getting at when I said that."

"Well, it's how it is," I say matter-of-factly. "We'll - erm -  _catch up_ more later, if you'd like - I know I'd definitely like - but right now, a game of Exploding Snap calls."

"Oh,  _fine_ ," Fred says, with an over dramatic sigh, "have it your way, Knight."

"You're a saint," I say, smiling and moving towards him to give him one last lingering kiss.

Immediately, he wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me closer to him, and the part of my mind that hasn't turned to mush decides to keep this going for a while more, but once a while has passed, I move away from him, take a few steps for good measure, and say, "Later. All the time in the world, right?"

"Right," Fred says slowly, smiling slightly.

"Good," I say briskly, and move towards the door, until I remember that he locked it. "Oi, do me a favour and unlock this, will you?"

"What - oh, yeah, right..." Fred says, hesitates for a moment, then waves his wand again.

Giving him one last wave and bidding him goodbye, I walk out of the room and back downstairs to the sitting room, where Ginny is still sitting.

"Where have you  _been_?" Ginny demands. "How long does it take to get a bloody pack of cards?"

"I was in your room," I say, as though this should be obvious. "Where else?"

"But you took so long - " she begins, but at that moment, Fred walks into the sitting room, settling once more into his seat between George and Bill. Ginny looks from me, to Fred, then back again, before a look of understanding crosses her face, smirking at me. "Oh, now I get it. You had...  _distractions._ "

"I had no such thing," I say dismissively, taking the cards out of the pack and shuffling them idly.

"Right," Ginny says, rolling her eyes. "I just hope you didn't do it on my bed."

"We didn't do anything," I say pointedly, "we only - "

"Aha, so he  _was_ in there!" Ginny says, looking triumphant, while I feel horrified at the fact that I had just completely given myself away like that.

"Okay, so - so maybe he dropped by and said hello," I mumble, slightly embarrassed.

"Right," Ginny repeats, scoffing, "because he totally went over to see you when he knew you'd be alone, just to say hello. D'you think I was born yesterday? Or I only met him yesterday? Or I haven't seen the way you two can hardly keep your eyes or your hands off each - "

"Okay, okay, fine," I say quickly. "Point made, you win. He didn't  _just_ say hello. But we really didn't do it on your bed," I add, when she begins to mime vomiting onto the slightly singed carpet by the fire. "Or anywhere, for that matter," I add, somewhat thoughtfully. "There really just wasn't any 'it' that was getting done."

"I don't even know how I'm supposed to trust you anymore," she says melodramatically. "For all I know, everything that comes out of your life could be nothing but lies - filthy, filthy lies."

"Oh, save the dramatics for the game, Weasley," I say, rolling my eyes. "You're going to need them when I kick your ass."

She drops the act immediately, looking at me challengingly, eyebrows raised.

"You think  _you're_ going to beat  _me_? I don't  _think_ so. I've already told you, this is my house, Knight. Bring it on, and prepare to be destroyed."

"Fine," I say, grinning. "Just as long as you're prepared for the complete and utter humiliation that you're going to go through when you lose."

"Oh, please," she says, rolling her eyes but grinning. "We'll just see who's going to end up embarrassed by the end of this."

As we play for the rest of the night, I try not to let my mind wander to the end of my conversation with Fred. What was it that he was going to tell me? How awful could it be that he's so unwilling to tell me? I mean, clearly it couldn't be anything good, if it's making him so nervous, could it?

I glance over at Fred so often that it's not long until Ginny notices, smirking and saying that I'm going to get my eyebrows singed off if I become too distracted from 'gazing lovingly,' to quote her, at him. I just laugh and look away quickly, but it's not long until I glance over at him again. It's to the point that I do very nearly get my eyebrows singed off, making Ginny burst out laughing and say, "I told you so."

Fred looks over at me just as often, looking preoccupied, and I don't know if the amount of times we make eye contact makes the situation better or worse. All I know is that there is a large chance that I might explode if I don't find out soon, if only out of paranoia.


	13. Celestina Warbeck

**Distance Means Nothing**

**Chapter Thirteen: Celestina Warbeck**

 

Over the next few days, though Fred and I talk as normal, I don't ask him what it is that he was going to tell me, and he doesn't take the initiative either. I do leave hints - loads of them - during our conversations, but in spite of the fact that they range from subtle to shamelessly obvious, he either doesn't take the hint or chooses to ignore it - I'm inclined to believe that it's the second one.

So I'm left to enjoy the holidays while still practically wanting to explode from curiosity. Wanting to see if maybe a but of of help could help me piece it together, I decide to ask Ginny, George, and Ron about it, since they might have an idea, as Fred's siblings.

I decide to ask Ron first.

"So, erm..." I begin awkwardly, talking to both Ron and Harry as we lay around in Ron's room, four days before Christmas. "Have you noticed Fred acting any... differently lately?"

"Fred? Well, he's always been different..." Ron replies slowly, looking at me with a frown.

"Yeah, but like... different from how he usually acts," I elaborate.

"Oh," he says. "Oh, well..." he pauses to think for a moment, looking thoughtful, and I allow myself to feel hopeful; maybe he had noticed something. "Not really. He's as much of a git as ever, anyway," and my heart sinks. "Why d'you ask, anyway?"

"No reason," I say, looking away quickly at one of his posters of the Chudley Canons.

"That's likely," Harry scoffs. I glare at him, but he just looks straight back at me, shrugging. "Well, you know it's true."

"Well, if you  _must_ know," I say pointedly, giving him one last glare before looking away again, "I just think... I mean... I've noticed that he's been acting a little... different lately, and I wanted to know if anyone else had noticed it or if I've just gone mental."

"Oh, come on, Hazel," Harry says seriously, "you haven't gone mental."

I look at him with slightly raised eyebrows, saying, "And what makes you say that?"

"For you to have gone mental, you would've had to have been sane in the first person," he explains, still in that very serious voice, "and you've always been a bit mad - and I would know."

"I hate you, Harry," I grumble, grabbing one of Ron's pillows and chucking it across the room at Harry, while Ron bursts out laughing.

Laughing, Harry chucks the pillow right back at me, and I throw it back, and it continues like this, until we notice Ron's laughter and grin at each other. I throw him another pillow, playing it off like I'm trying to hit him, he catches it, and in unison, we each throw a pillow at full force at Ron.

"Oi!" he protests as they both hit him, messing up his hair, and we burst out laughing. He throws a pillow back at each of us, and we leave it at that, Harry chucking his somewhere behind him and me bringing it to my chest, still grinning. " _Anyway_ ," he continues pointedly, fixing his hair, "now that you mention it, I think he has been acting a little bit differently."

"Really? How so?" I ask eagerly, straightening up, notice my tone of voice, and clear my throat, relaxing into my old position and saying, more calmly, "I mean - er - what d'you mean?"

Ron and Harry exchange looks, grinning, before the former says, "He's been acting... nervous, almost. Now that I think about it... you're always around whenever he's acting like that..."

"D'you know why?" I say quickly.

"No," he admits, shaking his head. "Even if I asked, he'd tell me to piss off or something, wouldn't he?"

"Right," I say, slightly put out. Then I hopefully add, turning to Harry, "Harry - ?"

He doesn't let me finish.

"No clue," he says, shrugging. "Sorry."

"It's official," I say, sinking back onto Ron's bed and sighing, "you two are  _no_ help."

With three days left until Christmas, I confront Ginny one morning, while we're getting dressed and Fleur, already all dressed, has left the room.

"Ginny," I begin.

"Hazel," she says, mocking my voice. When I stick my tongue out at her, she laughs and says, in her normal voice, "what's up?"

"I have a question for you."

She looks at me suspiciously for a moment, before waving a hand and saying, "Ask away."

"I was wondering if... if you've noticed anything different about - about Fred," I say slowly.

"Different how?"

"Different as in... secretive, I suppose? Or nervous," I reply. "That's what Ron called it, anyway."

"You've asked Ron about this?" Ginny says, raising her eyebrows.

"And Harry," I add, nodding.

"Then this must be serious,."

"Well, I wouldn't call it  _serious_ ," I say. "Well - actually - I don't really know what's going on enough to call it anything. That's why I'm asking."

"Well, tell me what happened, and we'll go from there," Ginny suggests.

"He - well - when we visited Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes in the summer, when I first saw him, he was going to tell me something, but then George interrupted, and when George left, he told me it was nothing," I begin. "And the other day I decided to ask him about it, because, you know, why not? But he just told me it was nothing and that there'll be plenty of time for that later. I mean, why can't he just tell me? What's so bad that he can't just tell me right away? And how does he even know we've got plenty of time? What if I have six months to live?" I finish dramatically, flopping down onto my bed.

"Well, first of all, you've probably got a bit more than six months to live," Ginny says, smiling.

"How would you know? Maybe I've got even  _less_ than six months to live! What if I don't even make it to my seventeenth birthday? Then what?"

"How would  _you_ know?" she retorts.

I'm silent for a moment, contemplating her question; then I grumble, turning over on the bed so that I'm lying on my stomach, "I'm just  _saying,_ it's  _possible_."

She rolls her eyes and says, "Anyway, now that you mention it, I suppose he's been acting a little different - mostly whenever you're around, though, so I guess it makes sense."

"That's what Ron said," I mumble into the mattress.

"Well, Ron's got it right for once," is all she says.

I turn back over so that I'm lying on my back again, prop myself up on my elbows, and say, "Have you any clue what it might be? Like, any at all? Because I've been drawing a blank here."

"I dunno," she admits, shrugging and sitting down at the foot of her own bed. "Maybe you should try asking him again soon?"

"What difference will it make," I say, lying back down again, "when he doesn't seem keen to tell me and he clearly thinks that I won't die in six months?"

Then, quite suddenly, a brilliant idea occurs to me. I prop myself up on my elbows again and look at Ginny excitedly, mentally congratulating myself on the idea. Ginny, however, doesn't seem to get it.

"What?" she asks, frowning. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You ask him!" I burst out.

"What?" she repeats.

"Ask him what's on his mind for me!" I elaborate eagerly. "Get him to tell you and then report to me immediately."

She doesn't even hesitate to reply.

"No."

"Why not?" I protest, sitting up slightly higher, my brow furrowing.

"Hazel, it looks to me like this has to do with your and Fred's relationship. Not mine. Meaning, it's yours to figure out. Not mine." She replies.

"I'd do it for you!" I point out, sitting fully upright and folding my arms, frowning.

"That's awfully nice of you," she says, smirking, "but I'm not doing it."

"Good to know what this friendship meant to you," I huff dramatically. "If you could even  _call_ it a friendship."

"Don't get dramatic with me," Ginny says, rolling her eyes.

"Says the Drama Queen herself," I retort.

"Good point," she says, grinning. "Anyway, I'm sorry, Hazel, but I reckon it'll be best if you figure it out yourself."

"It's fine," I say, shrugging and getting to my feet, straightening out my clothes. "Either way, I suppose you were a bit more help than Harry and Ron. Mind you," I continue thoughtfully, "that's not much."

"Suppose I deserve that," she says, shrugging, getting to her feet herself.

"Yes, you do," I state, and we grin at each other, but I start heading for the door. "Anyway, let's go down to breakfast. I expect they're all waiting on us now."

"All your fault for holding us up," Ginny says matter-of-factly.

"Shut up, Weasley," I grumble, and we leave the room with Ginny laughing and me trying to play it off as though I'm offended.

With two days left to go until Christmas, I decide to confront George, innocently but firmly dragging him away to Ginny's room with little explanation as to why.

"So," he begins conversationally, when I've closed the door behind us, "is there any particular reason why you've just kidnapped me?"

"I didn't kidnap you," I say matter-of-factly. "If I really wanted to kidnap you, I would've been a lot more stealthy and sneaky and impressive about it. But to answer your question, yes, there is a reason we're gathered here today in Ginny's bedroom."

"And that reason would be?" he prompts.

"Fred," I reply, leaning against the wall of the room and folding my arms.

"Fred," he repeats blankly.

"Fred," I say firmly. "You know, your twin brother, my boyfriend, the annoyingly lovable git we all know and put up with," I elaborate, waving a hand airily.

"I know of him," George says, folding his arms himself. "I'm more curious on why you want to talk about him."

"Well," I begin, "as a matter of fact, I'm a bit curious about whether or not you've noticed anything... different about him."

"What d'you mean by different?" he asks.

"You know... not how he normally is," I explain awkwardly.

"Thank you for that enlightening definition of the word different, Hazel," George says, rolling his eyes.

"Shut up," I say, slightly defensively.

"How about this: I'll shut up when you get a bit more specific," he suggests, "deal?"

"Oh, fine," I say. "I dunno, there's just something that he was going to tell me, but he's not so keen to do it anymore. And Ginny and Ron and - rm - kind of Harry - all said that they noticed him acting different around - well, around me - so I was wondering if you knew anything."

"Wait - so you asked Ginny, Ron, and Harry?" he says, actually holding up a hand as though to pause the conversation. "And now you've gone to me?"

"Well - yeah," I say, then add defensively. "It's really bothering me!"

"And amidst all this, it never occurred to you to - I don't know - ask Fred?"

"Oh, don't get like that, I  _tried_ talking to Fred," I say defensively. "I asked him about it the other day, but he said we've got all the time in the world, and I've been trying to figure it out - "

"If you've got all the time in the world, why are you bothering to figure it out?"

"Because I'm almost certain he just said that because he changed his mind and didn't want to say anything!"

"If he doesn't want to say anything, why aren't you just leaving it at that and letting him tell you when he wants to tell you?"

"Because - because I want to - I'm - well, I think it'd be best if - wait a minute - you're distracting me!" I protest, finally noticing the semi-amused look on his face and realising the truth. "You know what it is, but you're distracting me so you haven't got to tell me!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Hazel," he says in an innocent voice that has deceived me for years.

"Oh, don't act like that voice still fools me," I snap.

"Well, I fooled you just now, so I decided to go for it," he says, shrugging.

"Alright, fine, you got me," I say impatiently. "Now are you going to tell me or not?"

Just like Ginny, he answers my question without any hesitation - and just like with Ginny, it's the exact opposite of the answer I want to hear.

"No."

"Why not?" I say, my hands falling to my sides and a slightly whiny tone to my voice.

"Because it's not for me to tell," he says simply, though he smiles slightly at my tone.

"That's what Ginny said," I mumble grumpily.

"Really? Well, it's about time Ginny took after her best brother," he says matter-of-factly.

"So... you're not going to tell me  _anything_?" I say slowly.

"That's right," he confirms, nodding.

"But - " I begin, ready to start arguing, but he cuts me off.

"Look, Hazel, this is all between you and Fred, and I reckon it ought to stay that way, otherwise it'll just get too complicated for no good reason," he states. When I go to argue, he adds, "In any case, I reckon whatever he's got to say to you about this you'll know soon enough."

"Yes, but  _when_?" I ask impatiently.

"When he wants to tell you, I suppose," George shrugs. "I haven't exactly got an exact date and time for you, Knight."

"I hate waiting," I grumble.

"Trust me, we all know that," he says, laughing, and I crack a small smile.

"I'd like to point out that I did not withhold vital information from him for extended periods of time," I say matter-of-factly.

George looks at me in disbelief.

"You're kidding me, aren't you?"

"Should I be?"

"Oh, Merlin," George says, rolling his eyes. "You waited a good two years to tell him that you fancy him, Hazel."

I stare at him, stumped at this piece of information.

"Okay, yes, but - you know - I also - well - " I stutter.

"And you didn't talk to him during that fight a couple years ago after you two pretended to date, even though you wanted to be friends again," he continues.

"Okay - okay, yes, you've got a point - but, you know, that wasn't  _just_ my fault, really - "

"And you waited a month to apologise to him for that fight last year," he finishes.

"Okay - well - I might have done that - but - but - okay, fine, you win," I grumble, and he grins.

"See, Knight? You're just as secretive as him, if not more," he states.

"Alright, fine, I'll admit to that," I say, folding my arms and smiling reluctantly. "But are you absolutely sure that you can't just - "

"No, Hazel," he says firmly, and my posture slumps from disappointment. "You'll figure it out. You always do, especially with him. Anyway," he continues, clapping his hands and rubbing them together briskly, "if that's all for the moment, I suppose we'd better head back out, before they start thinking you really did kidnap me and have already killed me and ran away."

With that, he starts heading for the door, and I follow behind him.

"Couldn't you just give me a hint?" I say pleadingly.

"It's about you," he says shortly, after a small pause.

"Yes, but I already knew  _that_."

"It's still a hint," he says. "You should've been more specific, Knight. You asked for a hint, I have you a hint, and that's all your getting."

"George," I whine."

"Hazel," he says, mocking my tone, and I shove him slightly, and he shoves me back, and we continue like this until we've reached the others.

Not knowing Bill well enough to really be able to ask about Fred, I wake up on Christmas Eve as clueless and curious as ever. The day passes by rather normally, and once night has fallen, I walk into the sitting room, which has been decorated so lavishly by Ginny it looks quite like a paper-chain explosion. Fred, George, Harry, Ron, and I are the only ones that know that the angel on top of the tree is actually a garden gnome that had bitten Fred in the ankle as he pulled up carrots for Christmas dinner. Stupefied, painted gold, stuffed into a miniature tutu and with small wings glued to its back, it glowers down at us all, the worst gnome I've ever seen, with a large bald head and rather hairy feet.

We're all supposed to be listening to a Christmas broadcast by Mrs. Weasley's favourite singer, Celestina Warbeck, whose voice is warbling out of the large wooden wireless set. Fleur, who seems to find Celestina very dull, is talking loudly in a corner so that a scowling Mrs. Weasley keeps pointing her wand at the volume control, so that Celestina grows louder and louder. Under the cover of a particularly jazzy number called 'A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love,' Fred, George, and Ginny start a game of Exploding Snap, Ron shoots covert looks at Bill and Fleur, as though wanting to pick up tips, and I walk over to Remus, who looks as ragged and thin as ever, staring into the fire as though he can't hear Celestina at all.

_Oh, come and stir my cauldron,_

_And if you do it right,_

_I'll boil you up some hot, strong love,_

_To keep you warm tonight._

"We danced to this when we were eighteen!" Mrs. Weasley says, wiping her eyes on her knitting. "Do you remember, Arthur?"

"Hmm?" says Mr. Weasley, whose head had been nodding over the satsuma he had been peeling. "Oh, yes... marvellous tune..."

Grinning slightly, I turn back to Remus, who has looked up at me, and say, "D'you mind if I join you?"

"Not at all," he says, smiling and nodding, and I sit down across from him. "How's term been so far?"

I tell him all about life at Hogwarts nowadays, about how parents are taking - or, at least, wanting to take - their children home, about all the extra security measures, and about Slughorn. At the mention of Slughorn, a knowing look crosses Remus' face.

"Ah, Horace Slughorn," he says, smiling slightly and shaking his head.

"You knew him, too, then?"

He nods, then says, "Of course, not very well. I'm afraid to say he never found me as interesting as he found your mum and dad."

"He doesn't find me very interesting, either," I say. "The only reason he keeps inviting me to his parties is because of my parents; I don't think he actually much likes me much."

"He's got to," Remus says, shaking his head. "Even a little bit, otherwise he'd stop inviting you. Trust me, I've seen it happen."

"That's true," I muse, hugging my knees to my chest. "There was this one bloke called Belby, and when we were having lunch in Slughorn's compartment, I guess he really wanted to impress Slughorn, except he was eating food Slughorn offered him, so when Slughorn asked him a question, he ended up choking and Slughorn didn't seem to like him much after that, and I haven't seen him at any of Slughorn's little events since."

"See, now that sounds like the Slughorn I knew," Remus muses, as Celestina begins a number called 'You Charmed the Heart Right Out of Me'. "Very interested in the connected and the powerful, and not much else."

"Well, nobody's missing out on much," I say, pressing my cheek to my knee and shrugging slightly. "All his little dinner parties are awfully boring. The Christmas Party was alright, but that's mostly because I went with Neville and talked to Hermione, Harry, and Luna most of the night."

"You went with Neville, did you?" he says, looking at me in slight surprise.

"Yeah," I say, nodding. "I mean, the one person I really wanted to go with obviously wasn't around, and Neville was really one of the only people I could think of that I'd actually enjoy going with, and you know, he was invited to lunch, but Slughorn didn't really invite him to anything after that, so..."

"That's nice of you," he comments.

"I wasn't doing it to be nice," I say, somewhat indignantly. "I wasn't doing him some huge favour; it's mostly the other way around, I'd have looked like an idiot going by myself." He looks at me with an odd sort of smile on his face. Confused, I say, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Sorry - it's just, it's odd how much you remind me of your parents sometimes," he says, shaking his head.

"Oh," I say, slightly upset by this; I know that Remus recognised that I'm not my parents, I know that he knew them longer than he knew me, that I look a lot like them and apparently act a lot like them, that it's natural to be compared to them, but it's still upsetting. "Oh, right."

Slightly uncomfortable, I quickly change the subject and ask him about how his mission for the Order has been going, and he tells me about what it was like to try and persuade the werewolves to join Dumbledore, and as he tells me as much about a secret mission for the Order of the Phoenix as he can tell an underage witch, I listen intently to him and try to forget his earlier words.

When he finishes, we hear Harry talking to Mr. Weasley about the conversation he had heard between Malfoy and Snape, and we both listen intently without really realising what we're doing. When he finishes, for a moment, there's silence except for Celestina's crooning.

_Oh, my poor heart, where has it gone?_

_It's left me for a spell..._

"Has it occurred to you, Harry," Mr. Weasley begins, "that Snape was simply pretending - ?"

"Pretending to offer to help, so he could figure out what Malfoy was up to?" Harry says. "Yeah, I thought you'd say something like that. But how do we know?"

"It isn't our business to know," Remus jumps in, and we turn our back to the fire to face Harry and Mr. Weasley. "It's Dumbledore's business. Dumbledore trusts Severus, and that ought to be good enough for all of us."

"But," Harry says, "just - just say Dumbledore's wrong - "

"People have said it; many, many times. It comes down to whether or not you trust Dumbledore's judgement. I trust Dumbledore, therefore I trust Severus."

"But Dumbledore can make mistakes," Harry says. "He says it himself. And - " he looks Remus straight in the eye - "do you honestly like Snape?"

"I neither like nor dislike Severus," Remus replies. "No, I'm speaking the truth," he adds, when Harry and I look at him sceptically. "We shall never become friends, perhaps; after all that happened between James and Sirius and Severus, there's too much bitterness there. But I do not forget that during the year I taught at Hogwarts, Severus made me Wolfsbane potion every month, made it perfectly, so I never had to suffer as I usually do at the full moon."

"But he ' _accidentally_ ' let it slip that you were a werewolf, so you had to leave!" I point out.

"The news would have leaked out, anyway," Remus shrugs. "Everyone knew he wanted my job, but he could've wrecked me much worse by tampering with the potion. He kept me healthy. I must be grateful."

"Maybe he didn't dare mess with the potion with Dumbledore watching him!" Harry says.

"You are determined to hate him, Harry," Remus says with a faint smile. "And I understand; with James as your father, Sirius as your godfather, you inherited an old prejudice. By all means tell Dumbledore what you have told us, but do not expect him to share your view on the matter; do not even expect him to be surprised by what you tell him. It might have been on Dumbledore's orders for Severus to question Draco."

_... and now you've torn it quite apart,_

_I'll thank you to give back my heart!_

Celestina ends her song on a very long, high-pitched note, and loud applause issues out of the wireless, and Mrs. Weasley joins in eagerly.

"Eez eet over?" Fleur says loudly. "Thank goodness, what an 'orrible - "

"Shall we have a nightcap, then?" Mr. Weasley says loudly, springing to his feet. "Who wants eggnog?"

As Mr. Weasley hurries over to the kitchen to get eggnog for everyone, everyone stretches and breaks into their own conversations.

"What have you been up to lately?" Harry asks of Remus.

"Oh, I've been underground. Almost literally. That's why I haven't been able to write; sending letters to you would've been something of a giveaway - "

"What do you mean?"

"I've been living along my fellows, my equals. Werewolves," Remus elaborates, when Harry doesn't understand. "Nearly all of them are on Voldemort's side. Dumbledore wanted a spy and here I was... ready-made."

He sounds bitter, and perhaps realises it, because he continues more warmly, "I'm not complaining, though; it's necessary work and who can do it better than I? However, it's been difficult gaining their trust. I bear the unmistakable signs of having tried to live along wizards, you see, and they have shunned normal society and live on the margins, stealing - and sometimes killing - to eat."

"How come they like Voldemort?"

"They think, under his rule, they'll have a better life," Remus explains. "And it's hard to argue with Greyback out there..."

"Who's Greyback?"

"You haven't heard of him?" Remus; hands close convulsively in his lap, and my eyes flicker over to him uncertainly, before returning them to Harry. "Fenrir Greyback is, perhaps, the most savage werewolf out there today. He regards it as his mission in life to bite and contaminate as many people as possible. Voldemort has promised him reward in return for his services. Greyback specialised in children... bite them young, he says, and raise them away from your parents, raise them to hate normal wizards. Voldemort has threatened to unleash him upon people's children; it is a threat that usually produces good results."

He pauses, then says, "It was Greyback who bit me."

"What?" Harry says, looking astonished. "When you were a kid, you mean?"

"Yes. My father offended him. I did not know, for a very long time, the identity of the werewolf who attacked me. I even felt pity for him, thinking he had no control, knowing by then how it felt to transform. But Greyback is not like that. At the full moon, he positions himself close to victims, ensuring that he is near enough to strike. He plans it all. And this is the man Voldemort is using to marshal werewolves. I cannot pretend my particular brand of reasoned argument is making much headway against Greyback's insistence that we werewolves deserve blood, that we ought to revenge ourselves on normal people."

"But you are normal!" Harry says fiercely. "You've just got a - a - problem - "

Remus bursts out laughing.

"Sometimes you remind me a lot of James. He called it my 'furry little problem' in company. Many people were under the impression that I owned a badly behaved rabbit."

We each accept a glass of eggnog from Mr. Weasley with a word of thanks, and Harry excitedly asks Remus, "Have you ever heard of someone called the Half-Blood Prince?"

"The Half-Blood what?"

"The Half-Blood Prince," Harry repeats, watching Remus closely for any sign of recognition.

"There are no Wizarding princes," he states, now smiling. "Is that the title you're thinking adopting? I thought the 'Chosen One' would be enough - "

"It's not about me!" Harry says indignantly. "The Half-Blood Prince is someone who used to go to Hogwarts. He wrote spells all over it, spells he'd invented. One of them was Levicorpus."

"Oh, that one had a great vogue during my time at Hogwarts," Remus says reminiscently. "There were a few months in my fifth year where you couldn't move without being hoisted into the air by your ankle."

"My dad used it," Harry says, in a would-be offhand voice, but I can tell what he's really implying, and by the looks of it, so can Remus. "He used it on Snape, I saw it in the Pensieve."

"Yes, but he wasn't the only one," says Remus. "As I said, it was very popular... you know how these spells come and go..."

"But it sounds like it was invented while you were in school," Harry insists.

"Not necessarily, jinxes go in and out of fashion like everything else," Remus says, noticing the look on Harry's face, and quietly says, "James was a pure-blood, and I promise you, he never asked us to call him 'Prince.'"

"And it wasn't Sirius? Or Hazel's dad? Or you?"

"Definitely not," Remus says firmly.

"Oh," Harry stares into the fire. "Well, I just thought - he's helped me out in a lot of Potions classes, the Prince has."

"How old is the book, Harry?" I suddenly say.

"I dunno, I never checked."

"Well, that might give you a clue as to when the Prince was in Hogwarts," Remus suggests, nodding at me.

Shortly after this, Fleur decides to imitate Celestina singing 'A Cauldron of Hot, Strong Love' and by the look on Mrs. Weasley's face, we take it as our cue to go to bed. Fleur leads the way to Ginny's room, and I constantly remind Ginny under my breath that it's not worth going to Azkaban for murdering your brother's fiance because she made fun of Celestina Warbeck.

 

***

 

The next morning, as per usual, I'm the first in the room to wake up and go to wake up Ginny and Fleur enthusiastically. Neither of them respond very well to it. In the end, I end up insisting that the both of them are boring, throwing a pillow at Ginny, and opening my presents, smiling gratefully at them.

Once I'm finished opening presents, I get dressed in the light blue jumper Mrs. Weasley had made for me, my usual Father Christmas hat and a pair of jeans, before walking out of the room, wishing Happy Christmas to people I pass.

I walk up to Ron's attic bedroom, where both Ron and Harry are staying. I knock on the door, and once I hear a murmur of assent, burst into the room.

"Happy Christmas - " I begin loudly, then stop at the sight of the gold chain Ron's holding, reading:  _My Sweetheart,_ an obvious gift from Lavender. "Ron - what - what is that?"

He goes to put it out of sight, but I hurry across the room and grab it before he can, holding the chain up to eye level. Unable to help myself, I let out a laugh at the sight of it.

"Hmm... let me guess," I say, feigning thoughtfulness. "Dean? Seamus? Oh - wait - no - definitely Parvati."

"Shut up," he mumbles, snatching it back.

"Well, whatever you do, don't let Fred and George see that," I advise.

"You won't tell them, though," he says, looking at me with slightly wide eyes.

"Of course not," I say. "Honestly, Ron, do you really think I hate you that much?"

I watch as they open the rest of their presents, and Harry eventually pulls out a slightly damp, moldy-smelling package that reads:  _To Master, From Kreacher._ Harry stares at it.

"D'you reckon this is safe to open?"

"Can't be anything dangerous, our mail's still being searched by the Ministry," Ron replies, eyeing the parcel suspiciously.

"I didn't think to get Kreacher anything. Do masters usually get their house-elves Christmas presents?" Harry says, prodding the parcel carefully.

"Hermione would," Ron says. "But let's wait and see before you start feeling guilty."

A moment later, Harry lets out a loud yelp and leaps out of his camp bed, just as I gasp and jump away and off the foot of it; the package contains a large number of maggots.

"Nice," Ron says, roaring with laughter. "Very thoughtful."

"I'd rather have that than the necklace," Harry says, and that makes me laugh and relax and sobers Ron up at once.

Everyone is wearing their new Christmas jumpers when we sit down for lunch. Everyone except for that is, Fleur, who seemingly hadn't gotten one for some reason, and Mrs. Weasley herself is sporting a brand new midnight-blue witch's hat glittering with what look like tiny star-like diamonds, and a spectacular golden necklace.

"Fred and George gave them to me! Aren't they beautiful!"

"Well, we find we appreciate you more and more, Mum, now we're washing our own socks," George says, waving an airy hand. "Parsnips, Remus?"

"Harry, you've got a maggot in your hair," Ginny says cheerfully, leaning across the table to pick it out.

"'Ow 'orrible," Fleur says, with an affected little shudder.

"Yeah, isn't it?" Ron says. "Gravy, Fleur?"

In his eagerness to help her, he sends the gravy boat flying; Bill waves his wand and the gravy soars up in the air and returns meekly to the boat.

"You are as bad as zat Tonks," Fleur says to Ron, after she has finished kissing Bill in thanks. "She is always knocking - "

"I invited dear Tonks to come along today," Mrs. Weasley says, setting down the carrots with unnecessary force and glaring at Fleur. "But she wouldn't come. Have you spoken to her lately, Remus?"

I don't know why Mrs. Weasley would direct the question specifically at Remus, but he says, "No. I haven't been in contact with anybody very much. But Tonks has got her own family to go to, hasn't she?"

"Hmmm," Mrs. Weasley says. "Maybe. I got the impression she was planning to spend Christmas alone, actually."

She glares at Remus, and now I'm really confused, because it's almost as though she thinks it's  _his_ fault she's getting Fleur as a daughter-in-law instead of Tonks, but looking at Fleur, who's now feeding Bill bits of turkey off her own fork, I feel as though Mrs. Weasley is fighting a long-lost battle.

"Tonks' Patronus has changed form," Harry suddenly says to Remus. "Snape said so, anyway. I didn't know that could happen. Why would your Patronus change?"

Remus takes a particularly long time to chew his turkey and swallow carefully, before saying, "Sometimes... a great shock... an emotional upheaval..."

"It looked big, and it had four legs," Harry says, then says, lowering his voice, "Hey - it couldn't be - "

"Arthur!" Mrs. Weasley says suddenly. She has risen from her chair; her hand is on her chest and she's staring out the kitchen window. "Arthur - it's Percy!"

"What?"

Everybody looks quickly at the window; Ginny stands up for a better look. There, sure enough, is Percy, striding across the snowy yard, his horn-rimmed glasses glinting in the light. However, he's not alone.

"Arthur, he's - he's with the Minister!"

And sure enough, the man I've seen in the  _Daily Prophet_ is following along in Percy's wake, limping slightly, his mane of greying hair and his black cloak flecked with snow. Before any of us can say anything, before Mr. and Mrs. Weasley can do more than exchange stunned looks, the back door opens and there stands Percy.

There's a moment of very pained silence, and then Percy stiffly says, "Happy Christmas, Mother."

"Oh, Percy!" Mrs. Weasley cries, and she throws herself into his arms.

Rufus Scrimgeour pauses in the door, leaning on his walking stick and smiling as he observes the scene.

"You must forgive this intrusion," he says, when Mrs. Weasley looks around at him, beaming and wiping her eyes. "Percy and I were in the vicinity - working, you know - and he couldn't resist dropping in and seeing you all."

I don't think they could've come up with a less convincing lie, because Percy does not look like he wants to see the rest of the family at all. He stands there, poker-straight and awkward-looking, and stares over everybody else's heads. Mr. Weasley, Fred, and George are all observing him, stony-faced.

"Please, come in, sit down, Minister!" flutters Mrs. Weasley, straightening her hat. "Have a little purkey, or some tooding... I mean - "

"No, no, Molly, dear," Scrimgeour says, and I get the impression that he had checked Mrs. Weasley's name with Percy before entering. "I don't want to intrude, wouldn't be here at all if Percy didn't want to see you so badly."

"Oh, Perce!" Mrs. Weasley says tearfully, reaching up to kiss him.

"... we've only looked in for five minutes, so I'll have a stroll around the yard while you catch up with Percy. No, no, I assure you I don't want to butt in! Well, if anybody cares to show you your charming garden... ah, that young man's finished, why doesn't he take a stroll with me?"

The atmosphere at the table changes perceptibly. Everybody looks from Scrimgeour to Harry. Nobody finds the pretence that Scrimgeour doesn't know Harry's name to be convincing, or find it natural that he had chosen Harry to accompany him, when Ginny, George, and Fleur all also had clean plates. For all Scrimgeour's talk of just being in the area, of Percy wanting to visit his family, it's clear that this is the real reason why they're here; so the Minister can talk with Harry alone.

"Yeah, alright," Harry says into the silence. "It's fine," Harry says, as he passes Remus, who has half risen from his chair. "Fine," he repeats, as Mr. Weasley opens his mouth to speak.

"Wonderful!" Scrimgeour says, standing back to let Harry pass. "We'll just take a turn around the garden, and Percy and I'll be off. Carry on, everyone!"

The moment the door closes behind Scrimgeour, the atmosphere in the room becomes painfully awkward, silent, and still. For a while, you can hear a pin drop. Then Mrs. Weasley moves and speaks, as, in her happiness to see Percy, she hasn't full realised the real reason why he's here, the fact that he doesn't truly want to see anyone here.

"Oh, Perce, I'm so glad you're here!" she's saying, beaming up at her son. "Sit down - have something to eat - "

"No, thank you, Mother, I'm fine," he says stiffly.

"I'm sure you are," George grumbles.

"George!" Mrs. Weasley admonishes, but George does not seem to have heard.

I look at the faces of each Weasley, then at Remus and Fleur, who both seem to share my apprehension. Then I look at Percy once more, at his stony expression, how he refuses to look at any of their faces, not even his mother, who's standing right in front of him and leaning to kiss him again, and I have to wonder if he misses his family at all. I know the others miss Percy, because even though their expressions are as hard as his, I've seen them when the ice has melted, and I know that for all the talk about Percy being the world's biggest git, they miss him and his absense left a heavier mark than Mr. Weasley and the Weasley children care to show or even admit. And I have to wonder if Percy's ice ever melts.


	14. Ghosts

**Distance Means Nothing**

**Chapter Fourteen: Ghosts**

 

The atmosphere in the Burrow is tense for the rest of the day, and I can already tell that it will remain that way for the rest of the holidays. This fact becomes particularly evident when I drag Fred and George out into the garden, and in spite of all my efforts to get a conversation going, they give short replies.

Soon, I get quite frustrated with this, and regard them with folded arms and a small frown, "I didn't take you two to be boring."

"That's because we're not boring," Fred says, not looking around at me.

"Well, you're acting it," I say, then move forward so that I'm walking backwards in front of them. "Come on, forget about Percy, he already got a face full of mashed parsnip. Let's focus on - let's do... other things."

They look at me, then at each other.

"Other things..." they repeat in unison; then, they look at each other again, and a devious smile crosses their faces very slowly.

"What are you two thinking?" I ask, looking at them suspiciously.

"Other things," they repeat, bend down, and before I've fully realised what they're doing, they've both thrown a snowball at me.

A smile creeps on my face slowly, and I say, "So, that's how you want to play, hmm? Bring it on."

With that, I quickly make two snowballs and throw one at each of them. They retaliate quickly, and soon we're in the middle of a huge snowball fight, all of us with damp clothes and hair and pink cheeks, but still laughing.

"You know, this is - hardly - fair," I say, throwing a snowball at each of them. "Two against one, and all."

"If you didn't want this to happen, maybe you shouldn't have started it," George retorts, throwing a snowball that I manage to dodge.

"I did -  _not_ \- start it!" I protest, punctuating the word 'not' with a particularly hard throw in George's direction. "You two did!"

"Well, you said to focus on  _other things_ ," Fred points out, throwing a snowball at me, and this time it hits me in the stomach. "And this was the best  _other thing_ we could think of."

"Of course," I say, rolling my eyes and aiming a snowball at Fred's chest, then add, aiming a snowball at George, "Typical."

Eventually, Fred says, "You know, I think this is getting boring."

"You know, Fred, I agree," George says, nodding at his twin.

I look between Fred and George, my eyes narrowing slightly, not quite believing them.

"You seemed to be enjoying yourself a moment ago," I point out.

"Things change," Fred says idly. "But, you know, I think I've got an idea..."

"And I think I know what you're thinking, Freddie," George adds.

With that, they both draw their wands, and with a flick of their wands, a load of snowballs rise from the ground and fly over to me. With a small yelp, I leap to the side, managing to avoid most of the snowballs, but a fair few of them still hit me. I throw my arms up in front of my face to protect it from the worst of the damage, bringing my leg up to protect myself as well.

"Hey!" I say, as Fred and George continue to magically aim snowballs at me. "You can't use magic! That's  _definitely_ not fair!"

"All's fair in love and war, Knight," Fred sings.

"Hey - cut - cut that out! I swear, I'm going to - " I begin, backing away while still protecting my face with my arms, but then cut myself off by letting out a small yelp, as I've just tripped and fell over on my back.

Fred and George, laughing, flick their wands, and all the snowballs rain down on me. I sit there as they do, folding my arms, pouting, and shivering, my hair and clothes now soaked.

"Have you two quite finished?" I ask, when the snowballs have all fallen on me and Fred and George stand over me, grinning broadly.

"Yes, probably," George says, nodding.

"You two are dicks," I state, getting to my feet. "I swear, when I'm seventeen - "

"We'll be quaking with fear over you," Fred says sarcastically.

"You act all confident now, Weasley," I begin threateningly, as we walk back towards the house, "but you'll be singing to a different tune when I can use magic outside of school."

"Yeah, yeah," he says, grinning, and puts an arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer to him.

"Fry me off before we go back in," I say, when we're just outside the door.

"Stretch out your arms," Fred says, moving away from me and stretching out his arms briefly, before drawing his wand again. I obey, and he points his wand at my feet, before moving it up my body, and my clothes steam as they dry out. "You so owe me," Fred says jokingly when he's finished, stowing his wand back in his pocket as we walk inside.

"As if you're not the reason I was wet to begin with," I say, rolling my eyes, then add, when they glance at each other, "And don't you  _dare_ take that out of context."

"Hey, don't blame us, Knight," George says, grinning. "It was right there."

"You two are ridiculous," I state, rolling my eyes and wrapping my arms around myself, trying to warm up more.

Fred seems to notice, because his brow furrows and he says, "Blimey, you're really cold, aren't you?"

"Well, you two did just attack me with about a million snowballs," I point out.

"Don't be so dramatic," Fred says. "It wasn't  _nearly_ a million."

"Close enough," I grumble.

He grins, then holds up a finger and mumbles, "One second," before walking away. When he returns, he's holding a blanket, and wraps it around my shoulders gently.

I smile up at him, surprised by the gesture but still pleased, and desperately want to kiss him, but decide to practice self-control with the presence of other people in the room, so instead I thank him and head for the sitting room, curling up and pulling the blanket tighter around myself.

Fred and George sit down on either side of me, and the latter asks, "Still cold?"

"A bit," I admit, shrugging.

"We were kind of hoping you'd say that," George says.

"Why - ?" I begin, but my question is answered before I can finish asking it; Fred and George both stretch out on the sofa, sprawled on top of me, so that I can't move. "What are you two doing?" I ask, partly confused and partly amused.

"Keeping you warm," Fred replies promptly.

"And so you thought it was necessary to lie down on top of me?" I say, raising my eyebrows.

"Yes," George says very seriously. "We could never live with ourselves if we knew that we had caused you to be so cold without doing all we could to warm you up."

"I'm not that cold - " I grumble, but Fred cuts me off.

"Oh, don't be like that, we all know you're  _freezing_ ," Fred says, grinning cheekily at me. "So I don't think we'll be moving any time soon."

I let out an indignant huff, shifting slightly - or, at least, as much as I can in this position; I might as well get comfortable. It certainly seems like I'll be here for a while.

"You two are the most irritating human beings I've ever met."

 

***

 

After Fred and George finally decide that I'm warmed up enough (fully ignoring my feeble protests of 'it's fine, really' and 'oh, will you two just get off'), I return the blanket to its original place and run into Remus in the middle of one of the hallways. Smiling, we talk for a moment, until I remember Mrs. Weasley's behaviour during Christmas lunch and decide to ask him about it.

"Remus," I say, "can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead," Remus says, gesturing for me to continue and leaning against the wall, folding his arms.

"During Christmas lunch," I begin slowly, "when Mrs. Weasley and Fleur were talking about Tonks... and the way she asked you about her... have you - erm - seen much of Tonks lately?"

"No," he replies, and he looks somewhat uncomfortable as he speaks. "As I said, I've been too busy with my mission for the Order, and communicating with anyone else would've given myself away."

"Yes, but - but have you - I mean, Mrs. Weasley seemed to be aiming a lot of it towards you," I say. "So I just figured you might have..."

He looks at me with an odd expression on his face, and I get the impression I've done something wrong. I'm just about to apologise and suggest to drop the subject, when he speaks.

"You don't miss very much, Hazel, do you?" he says shrewdly. I just shrug and send him a sheepish smile. "Tonks and I... are not in the best position."

"What d'you mean?" I ask, folding my own arms and looking at him with a small frown.

"She... it seems - well, she seems to favour me quite a bit more now," he replies.

For a moment, I'm still confused; then understanding whooshes over me like a tidal wave. I grin broadly for a moment, and I'm about to say something about how great that is, but then I notice that he doesn't seem very happy himself, and frown again.

"And do  _you_ favour her quite a bit more now?"

"It doesn't matter if I do," he replies.

"What d'you mean it doesn't?" I say, looking at him in surprise. "How do you feel about her and how she feels about you are the two most important parts of your relationship, romantic or platonic or whatever."

"Not in my case," he says, and now has a rather pained expression on his face. "Not with my kind."

"With your kind?" I repeat, confused, then I realise. My eyes narrow slightly. "What does your lycanthropy have to do with it?"

"It has everything to do with it," he replies. "Someone young and whole like Tonks doesn't deserve to be burdened with someone much older than her, someone like me."

"You act as though you're a thousand years old," I say, frowning slightly. "Anyway, you being a werewolf doesn't make you any less whole. It's like Harry said, you've just got a little problem."

He gives a very faint smile, though he still has that pained expression on his face, "Unfortunately, my little problem can prove to be quite a big one, and a very big burden to others. I don't wish to be that burden to Tonks. She deserves more than that."

"It's obvious you love her, Remus, I don't know why you're doing this to yourself," I say to him, shaking my head.

"I'm doing this to myself, because I'm far too old for her," Remus says. "And because my condition will make things difficult for her; she doesn't deserve all the negative effects of dating a werewolf."

"Remus, she doesn't care that you're a werewolf!" I exclaim. "Nobody does, and neither should you!"

He stares at me for a very long time, before abruptly saying, "Let's go for a walk."

I stare at him for a while, surprised, before nodding and retrieving my jacket. We walk into the backyard of the Burrow, walking around the garden slowly, ignoring the biting cold as best as we can. Snow starts falling again as the sun sets and we walk in silence, and I'm tempted to ask him exactly what we're doing out here in the cold if we're not even going to talk as we go. Then, Remus finally breaks the silence, just as I'm about to ask him what exactly possessed him to lead us out here.

"I'm assuming you've wondered why I've never asked you to live with me," Remus says, "or perhaps why I never contacted you and told you that I'm your godfather until your third year?"

I look down at the ground, at the white snow and the tracks we've made so far. I'd much rather talk about Remus and Tonks' current relationship than this.

"I can't pretend it hasn't crossed my mind," I finally mumble.

He nods once, then looks away from me, looking thoughtful. I frown at the action, not understanding why he would bring up such a sensitive topic for me, then just look away and not say anything. Finally, I decide to take matters into my own hands, because I want answers, and he's prompted me to get them so perfectly.

"It's just," I begin, then pause, trying to find the right words, "it's just that you never - you had twelve years. You never tried to contact me, never tried to find me, not once. I'm sure you knew I was with my aunt and my uncle, and even if you didn't, I'm sure a bit of poking around would've told you. But you never - you never tried. Not while I was in Privet Drive. Not during my first two years of Hogwarts. Never. And when you did tell me, it seemed like you were just doing it because, well, I was right there, so you might as well have. Then you never asked me to live with you. And I've had nearly three years to think of this, Remus, and I have to wonder..."

"Wonder what?" Remus asks quietly.

"Wonder if... if you didn't teach at Hogwarts in my third year, had it not been for the fact that we were forced to meet and interact," I begin slowly, "would you have tried to contact me at all? Would you have told me you're my godfather if you did? Would we have even met at all? Sure, there was the time at Headquarters last year, but what would you have done if you saw me? Pretended you didn't recognise me? Never tried to get to know me? Because you took your time telling me the truth, even when you were at Hogwarts. And, yes, you write to me and talk to me whenever you can and you're very, very kind, and please don't get me wrong, I appreciate you being around in any way, but sometimes it's just - I have to doubt if you ever - if you ever - if you ever even wanted me around at all, if you wanted to meet me and tell me you're my godfather, or if you did it because you had to... because you felt the need to..."

"You think I didn't want to meet you?" he says. "You think that I disliked you?"

"Well, you never really assured me in that department," I blurt out heatedly.

We're silent for a very long time. Slowly, as my heated emotions ebb away, I'm left to feel ashamed of my outburst, and even more ashamed of the fact that I feel tears prickling in my eyes. I look up at the sky, blinking back the tears, before looking back down at him and sighing deeply.

"I'm sorry," I say quietly. "I shouldn't have - I shouldn't be trying to guilt you. If you didn't want to meet me, or talk to me, or whatever, then... then that's fine. That's your choice, your opinion, I'll have to deal with it. Besides, I could hardly blame you if that is true."

"Why on earth would you not blame me?" Remus says, looking at me with his brow furrowed.

"Because - because I've got loads in common with my parents - or so I'm told, anyway," I begin, stepping in front of him so that we stop walking. "Because I look exactly like my mum. Because I've got my dad's smile. Because you didn't want to see me and meet me and be reminded of - of what happened to them, to your best friends. And that's why you don't want me to live with you, because I'd be a living reminder of my parents and the fact that they're - that they're gone walking around and living in your own house. It's why my Aunt Daisy hates me, I'm a living reminder of her sister and the mistakes she made with her. I'm like a ghost haunting her house all the time, and she hates it, and you'd hate it, so you didn't - "

I suddenly stop short, looking away from him, because tears are threatening to spill out again. I blink quickly, but one escapes my eye regardless. More ashamed of myself than ever, I wipe it away quickly, hoping he didn't notice, but one glance at the look on his face tells me he did.

He puts his hands on my shoulders and says, "I'm not your Aunt Daisy, Hazel. I do not see your parents when I look at you." At my scoff of disbelief he says, "Really, I'm telling the truth. Perhaps whenever you do something they would do, or sometimes when I just look at you, sometimes I will, and I'm sorry for that. I truly am. They were my best friends for nearly ten years, it's hard to let them go, even after all these years."

"I don't blame you, Remus," I assure him, looking up at him.

"You should," he says earnestly. "You shouldn't have to deal with people treating you like you're your parents, from me or from anybody. Now, do you wish to know the truth on why we didn't meet until your third year?"

I hesitate for a moment, before nodding earnestly.

"Contrary to what you clearly think, I did come to Privet Drive to see you, twice when you were young," he says.

I look at him in disbelief, my brow furrowing.

"Why don't I remember, then?" I state. "Surely I'd remember meeting the godfather I didn't even know I had."

"You don't remember because I never actually talked to you," he replies. "The first time, you were five, and it was very early in the morning, so I doubt anyone in your house was awake. I must've stood at your doorstep for an hour, trying to get myself to knock, but I just couldn't do it. Eventually, I Apparated back home. The second time, you were eight, and I showed up onto Privet Drive to see you playing with Harry. You didn't notice me, you were clearly very into whatever game you were playing, but you... you looked so happy, I couldn't do it."

"I'd've been happier with you!" I burst out, unable to help myself. "Happier to find someone who could actually, properly care for me besides Harry! Why didn't you come talk to me?"

"The same reason I won't admit to loving Tonks," Remus replies. "The same reason I keep denying her advances, as much as I want to accept. Because I'm a werewolf, and you're young and undeserving of being burdened by someone like me. And I didn't... I didn't know you then. Obviously, your parents didn't mind me being a werewolf, but I couldn't just assume that you wouldn't. I didn't want you to reject me, to be afraid of me. It's why I hesitated to tell you that I'm your godfather. It's why I didn't tell you I'm a werewolf when I did. I didn't want to just scare you away,"

"You think I would've been frightened? I would've hated you, not accepted you? I wish I would have given you the benefit of the doubt and assumed I'd be decent enough to be fine with it. Besides, I'll have you know," I add, trying desperately to lighten the mood a bit, "I had a very large interest in werewolves when I was younger, even though none of the information I read in books was close to being right."

A faint smile crosses Remus' face, and I return it weakly.

"I won't pretend I don't regret it," he says to me. "Because I do. Deeply. I regret it all the time, and I'm sure it's a regret I'll carry with me for the rest of my life.

"And I've never invited you to live with me for the same reason," he continues. "Well, I also didn't know at first the extent of your horrible living conditions with your aunt and uncle, but even so... I don't want you to deal with living with a werewolf. In any case, if you hadn't noticed, I'm not exactly rich, either. I wouldn't be able to provide you with everything you need; I wouldn't be able to get all that you want, all that you deserve."

"Remus, there's the gold my parents left me, we could've just shared a vault in Gringotts!" I say. "Besides, even if I didn't have all that gold, I don't want a bunch of stuff, I just want to live in a house where people actually at least liked me. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I shouldn't be guilting you, it's just - "

"It's fine," he says. "I think you should be guilting me, since this has been worrying you for so long."

He straightens up, but doesn't release his grip on my shoulder, and I'm secretly glad for it. The last thing I want is any sign of Remus becoming distant again.

"Please just know that the fact that I didn't contact you until your third year and that I never asked you to live with me... please just know that it's not because I don't care for you, or love you, or you're some painful reminder of the fate of my best friends," he says. "It is solely because of my condition, and had I been in a better situation than I am, I would've come to get you the moment I discovered you were in your aunt and uncle's care. I beg of you, please understand."

I'm silent for a very long time.

"D'you understand?" he says.

"Y-yes," I say weakly. Then, I say in a stronger voice, "Yes, I understand. Thank you, Remus."

"For what?"

"For the truth."

 

***

 

After that, after knowing the real reason why Remus had never contacted me or asked me to live with him, I don't know if the feeling in my chest is lighter or heavier than ever. All I know is that it's a feeling that I'm carrying around all the time, almost completely and totally, utterly unignorable.

I'm just thinking over different means of distractions from the feeling, walking down the corridor to go to Ron's attic bedroom, where Harry, Ron, and Ginny all are, passing Ginny's room, when the door opens and I'm yanked inside, pushed against the door of the bedroom. Lips immediately find mine, and the familiarity of them, along with the familiarity of the hands that are already wrapped around my waist, tell me exactly who it is.

I pull away long enough to look into his face and confirm that my theory is right, and say, "Hi, Fred."

He grins broadly at me. "Hello, Knight."

"So, what brings you here?" I say casually, though I have a hunch, and admittedly, I had been wondering all day if this would happen.

"I think you know."

"Yes, I think I do," I agree. "But I'd like to hear you say it."

"Ah, you're evil," he says, and pulls me to him again in a kiss. When he pulls away, he breathlessly says, "If you must hear it, though, it's been precisely two years since I first kissed you."

"Has it now?" I say, pretending to be completely surprised by this bit of information. I wrap my arms around his neck, one of my hands moving up to his hair. "Hmm, I hadn't noticed."

"Oh, really?" he says, raising his eyebrows at me and grinning.

"Really," I confirm, before pulling him towards me and kissing him again.

"Well, I noticed, and I think that there's only one proper way to celebrate," he states.

"And what's that?" I say, smiling at him.

"More snogging, obviously," he replies, then pulls me in for a longer kiss.

Laughing, I pull away, saying, "Now, what if I told you that I don't think that's the proper way to celebrate at all?"

"I'd tell you that you're trying to tease me," he replies, moving to kiss down my neck.

"And I'd tell you that you're right," I admit, and I can feel him grinning broadly against my neck.

"And I'd tell you that now that that's established," he murmurs, moving to look me in the eyes, "I'd still really like to kiss you."

"And I'd tell you that I'd really like to, too," I say in a low voice, and he smiles, wrappig his arms around me and kissing me, wrapping his arms around my waist, sucking and nibbling on my lower lip. "And I'd tell you that you're very, very good at this. And I'd tell you that I really like doing this..." I continue, running my fingers through his hair to demonstrate, "and that I really, really like you."

"And I'd tell you that you talk a lot," he says, smiling against my lips.

"And I'd tell you that you're one to talk," I retort, raising my eyebrows.

"And I'd tell you that I meant it as a good thing," he says. "I'd tell you that I like hearing you talk, that I like listening to you. And I'd tell you that you always look so bloody adorable in that Father Christmas hat. And I'd tell you that I really lo - I really like you. I really, really, really like you. And that even though you look so adorable in that hat, I'd much like to see it off, so that I can do this."

With that, he sweeps the hat off my head, takes my face in his hand, and kisses me again, running his fingers through my hair. Sighing contentedly against his lips, I move one of my hands down to his chest, resting it there, kissing him back.

"Not checking my heartbeat, are you?" he says, grinning and looking down at my hand on his chest.

I grin at him.

"How could you tell?"

"I'm a Seer, didn't I tell you?" he says, and I roll my eyes slightly at him, smiling. "So? How is it it, then?"

I move my hand over slightly so that it rests over his heart, and I'm surprised to find that it's actually beating quickly. Perhaps I'm too caught up in how much of an effect he has on me, or maybe it's the fact that he always acts so confident and laid back, but I've never realised that perhaps I have just as much of an effect on him as he has on me. I look up from his chest to his face and find him looking at me intently. I stare back at him just as intently, before snapping out of it and giving him a cheeky grin.

"Nothing," I say jokingly. "No heartbeat whatsoever. I hate to say it, Fred Weasley, but you're dead."

"Really?" he says, pretending to be shocked. "That explains  _so_ much!"

I start laughing, and soon enough he joins me. We stand there, laughing and looking at each other, until our laughter ceases and we're only staring at each other, traces of our grins still on our faces.

Then, I say, quite suddenly, "I'm really happy to see you," because I am. I don't think I had realised how much I'd missed Fred or how much I really adore him, so being with him again has made the truth hit me like a ton of bricks.

"I'm happy to see you, too, Knight," he says, looking surprised at my comment but not displeased.

"I really, really missed you, and I'm really, really glad to see you," I continue, running my fingers lightly along his chest. "Even if you and George did bombard me with snowballs."

"Oh, you're not still on about that, are you?" he says with raised eyebrows.

"It happened five hours ago!" I say indignantly. "I was shivering for ages."

"And we warmed you right up, didn't we?" he points out.

"You got me a blanket, yes," I admit, smiling slightly now, "but then you and George laid, like, half on top of me and wouldn't get up for ages."

"But you got warmer, didn't you?" he says.

I give him a hard look, but when he just looks back at me, unabashed, I grumble grudgingly, "Maybe."

He lets out a laugh, saying, "See, Knight? I'm not so bad, am I?"

"I never said you were bad, really," I admit. "Just that you're a right menace sometimes."

"Because that's any better," Fred says sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"If it helps, you're the good kind of menace," I say, giving him a cheeky smile. "You're my favourite menace."

"That is a bit more gratifying," he admits, smiling.

"Of course it is," I say in mock-arrogance, shooting him a cheeky smile. "Brilliant as I am, and all."

"And yet you call me an arrogant git," he says, shaking his head at me.

"Well, yeah," I say teasingly, "because you are."

"Oh, that's it," he says, grinning at me deviously. "You're going to pay for that one, Knight."

Before I can tauntingly ask him about how he's going to go about it, Fred picks me up, throws me over his shoulder easily, and spins me around quickly. I let out a gasp, gripping on to the fabric of his shirt.

"Fre-Fred, let go of me right now!" I say, holding back my laughter with difficulty.

"If you insist," he says, walks over, and throws me onto my camp bed. I fall onto it, laughing in spite of myself, staring up at him.

"You know, thanks for that, I quite like it here," I state, grinning at him. "Very comfortable."

"Is it now?" he says, regarding me with raised eyebrows.

"Yep," I say firmly. "See for yourself."

With that, I reach forward, grab his wrist, and yank him onto the camp bed beside me, so that he lets out a yelp as he falls down beside me. Laughing at his reaction, I move over to make more room for him, and now grinning himself, he shifts over.

"See what I mean?"

"Yeah, I think I do," he says, smiling at me. "I think we ought to stay here."

"I think that's an excellent idea, Weasley," I say briskly.

So there we lay, and eventually we move closer together so that we're cuddled together. We talk for what could've been minutes or hours or days, lying on my camp bed, my fingers lightly tracing different shapes on his chest, my head resting on the crook of his neck and his arm around my back.

"You do know that I really like you, don't you?" he suddenly blurts out.

I frown at him slightly, my brow furrowing. I prop myself up on my elbows so that I'm looking down at him, all the better to look at him more directly.

"Yes, why?" I say. "Is there a reason I shouldn't?"

"No," he says, shaking his head, and he looks like he means it. "Definitely not. I'm just... I want to make sure you know how much you mean to me."

"Well, I do," I say, still slightly concerned. "I know you like me, Fred."

"But do you know the full measure of it?" he says, looking up at me earnestly.

"The full measure of it?" I repeat questioningly. "What measure am I missing?"

He doesn't answer my question right away, and he doesn't look me in the eye immediately, regardless of the fact that I'm looking directly at him. He looks away for a while, before finally making eye contact with me again, but he still doesn't speak, staring into my eyes, and I want to know what he's thinking badly, what it is about me that he has on his mind.

I'm just about to egg him on a bit more, when he opens his mouth and says, "Well, honestly, Hazel, I - "

But at that precise moment, the door flings open and in comes Fleur. We both leap to our feet, me stumbling backwards and almost falling to the floor, but managing to regain my balance. Trying very hard not to despise Fleur, I smile in embarrassment as she starts apologising profusely.

"Sorry - sorry - I didn't mean to - I 'ad no idea you two were in 'ere - " she says, looking at us in embarrassment. "Should 'ave knocked or - of course, perhaps you should 'ave done it somewhere more private - but I am sorry - I should 'ave been more - "

"It's fine," Fred says quickly, shooting her a fleeting smile.

"Yeah, don't worry about it," I add, finding it hard to look at anybody for too long, with Fleur looking apologetic and Fred looking half embarrassed and half amused.

"Sorry," she repeats, "but you are very cute together. Was it love at first sight?"

We look at her in confusion for a moment.

"Wait - what?" I finally say.

"You two," she elaborates. "When you met - was it love at first sight?"

Again, we just stare at her blankly for a moment, and without even looking at Fred, I know that he's thinking the same thing as me. That meeting by me running into the side of the Hogwarts Express and Fred laughing at me for ages, that being... well, whatever we were for the first two weeks we knew each other, and everything that followed afterwards... no, you certainly couldn't use 'love at first sight' to describe our first encounter.

Finally, Fred and I look at each other, and at making eye contact, it seems that we can't help ourselves; we burst out laughing. The two of us laugh and laugh, clutching the stitches in our sides, while Fleur watches us, looking utterly bewildered.

"Oh, totally!" Fred says between laughs. "Seeing her sprawled on the floor definitely woke something inside me!"

"Definitely," I agree, still laughing. "Something about him laughing himself stupid at me showed me what love really was!"

Fleur does not seem to altogether get it.

"'Ave - 'ave I said something wrong - " she says.

Finally, I take it upon myself to calm down enough to explain, saying, "No, no, it's just - we met when I was eleven and he was thirteen, you know, and basically what happened was that I ran into the side of the train and fell over, and he saw and laughed at me for ages - not the kinds of things that constitute love at first sight. It's just funny to think about..."

"Oh," she says, and then she lets out a small laugh.

Again, an awkward atmosphere settles over the room, and I say bracingly, "Well, anyway, I reckon we should... go."

"No - I don't want to - " Fleur begins.

"It's fine, really," I insist. "We've - erm - had our fun."

Fred lets out a laugh that he barely manages to disguise as a cough, then says, clearing his throat, "Yeah, she's right, we ought to get going. See you, Fleur."

I give her a wave, and we walk out of Ginny's room. When Fred closes the door behind him, we look at each other, then we burst out laughing.

"That was awful," I say between laughs, bringing a hand to my mouth.

"Love at first sight - can you believe it?" he says, grinning broadly.

"If only she knew," I say, still giggling and shaking my head. "Anyway, I ought to go, I told Harry and Ron and Ginny I'd only be five minutes ages ago. So, I'll see you later."

I go up on tiptoe and kiss him briefly, my hand on his shoulder, and he kisses me back fervently, before we pull away, and my heels touch the ground again. I give him a small wave, smiling, and walk down the corridor, heading, once more, for Ron's attic bedroom, and it's not until I go to bed that night that I realise that that feeling in my chest, the one that was both light and heavy, I had forgotten all about in Fred's presence. It seems that it had been replaced by a much more pleasant sensation.

 

*Third Person Point of View in Fred's Perspective*

 

Fred watched Hazel as she walked away, down the corridor, and he couldn't help it, when she turned the corner, he let out a sigh. He had been so close. If only he hadn't hesitated, if only Fleur hadn't chosen that precise moment to walk in... then he would've gotten it out, then she would've known.

But then again, he conceded as he headed for his own bedroom, would that have been a good thing? Of course, he understood there was a good chance that she did not feel the same way, but what if it was worse than that? What if it freaked her out? After all, when he was sixteen (not that it was that long ago), he had liked Hazel, but he hadn't been in love.

 _But you've had time to fall in love with her since then,_ a voice in his head pointed out.  _Maybe the same thing goes for her._

But he still couldn't really expect it, could he? For all he knew, Hazel hadn't even thought about their relationship that seriously yet. He tried to dismiss that thought, though; after a year, she must have considered their relationship to be something serious, right? She'd have to think so, wouldn't she? Yes, that was right... but still, how serious did she think it was? How did she really feel about it all? About him?

Fred let out a groan as he reached his bedroom, opening the door and waking inside, allowing it to swing shut behind him. George was already inside, and looked up as Fred entered.

He seemed to notice Fred's preoccupied expression, because he said, "Something on your mind, Freddie?"

"Yes," he said truthfully, collapsing on his bed.

"Care to elaborate?" George asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Hazel," he said simply. "I keep - I keep trying to tell her that I love her, but I can never get it out. I almost did it just now, but then Fleur came in."

"Ah," George said in understanding. "I dunno, mate, you just have to grit your teeth and do it. Best thing you can do - and do it quickly, mind you, she's noticed you're acting different and she's getting worried."

"Is she?" Fred groaned. "Fantastic; who knows what she's thinking? But I - I just - I mean, I have to make sure she knows it's alright if she doesn't feel the same way, and I can't freak her out, either, can I? I don't want to scare her away."

"You won't scare her away," George says, rolling his eyes. "Hazel's a bit braver than that."

"You're saying that two years ago, you wouldn't run for your life at the idea of being  _really_ in love?" Fred said, raising his eyebrows at his brother.

George looked thoughtful for a moment; then he said, "Touché. But I wouldn't  _run_ exactly, and neither would you, and neither would Hazel. Relax, it'll work out."

"Right," Fred said slowly, staring up at the ceiling. "Right. Grit my teeth and do it. Right."

"There you are, Fred," George said approvingly.

He was right, of course; there was no better way to tell her than to just be open and frank and charge right into it. But Fred was uncertain of whether or not he'd be able to look her in the eye and do it. Which was ridiculous. Since when was he unable to take risks and overcome challenges?

But Hazel had always been an entirely different story, hadn't she? She was so beautiful, with pink cheeks and damp hair, shivering as she re-entered the Burrow; with her hair fanned out around her face as she landed on her camp bed earlier, laughing and smiling. She was funny and kind and lively and sarcastic and clever and she was everything he could have ever asked for in a girl, and he still didn't understand how he had gotten so lucky. He was scared, terrified even, of ruining that with freaking her out by telling her he loved her.

he reminded himself, though, that just as easily that it could go badly, it could go well. Hazel could love him back - or, at the very least, she wouldn't get freaked out. It was like George said, she was braver than that, wasn't she? He had to think more positively about the whole thing.

And as he fell asleep with her face on his mind, Fred thought that maybe, if he was very lucky, that when he told her the full measure of how he felt about her, there would be no running at all.


	15. Textbooks

**Distance Means Nothing**

**Chapter Fifteen: Textbooks**

 

Early in the morning, a few days after New Year, before Fred and George return to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes again, I pull Fred by his tie aside to somewhere more private.

"Demanding, are we, Knight?" he says, and I turn to see him regarding me with raised eyebrows, lowering his eyes to his tie before returning it to me.

"A bit," I say, with a shrug. "But I wanted to give you more of a private goodbye."

"Did you now?" he says, when I finally stop in an empty hallway and let go of his tie. When I do, he steps closer to me. "What kind of private goodbye?"

"Like you don't know," I scoff, reach up to wrap my arms around his neck, and kiss him. He smiles as he kisses me back, his arms around my waist. "Write to me," I say commandingly between kisses, then let out a small groan when he bites down on my lower lip and say, "Oh, please write, Fred."

"Oh, come on, Knight," he says, pulling away from me to look at me with raised eyebrows. "You know I won't." When I give him a look, he laughs, kisses me again, and says, "Only joking."

"You'd better be," I say sternly. "Or I might just have to kill you."

"You'd never kill me," he says confidently. "You'd miss having me around too much."

"Hmm, you might have a point there," I say, winding my hands in his hair and smiling.

"I always do," he says firmly, then kisses me again.

He bites down on my lower lip, and I let out a groan, tugging on his hair. One of his hands wander up to the small of my back, and he brings me closer against him, smiling triumphantly against my lips.

"Fred, we ought to - oh, for Merlin's sake!" comes George's exasperated voice to our right. We jump away from each other, so that my back slams against the wall, to find him looking at us with over-dramatic disgust. "Couldn't you have done this somewhere  _private_?"

"It was private until you came barging in," I reply, raising my eyebrows at him.

"If it was so easy for me to come barging in, then it wasn't that private," he retorts.

"George, you're my brother and you know I love you," Fred begins very seriously, "but if you don't get out right now, you're going to need all the help in the world to have a moment alone with Angelina after this."

"You wouldn't," George gasps dramatically, putting a hand to his chest and feigning shock.

"I would," Fred says matter-of-factly.

"And I'd help," I pipe up, and Fred sends me a furtive wink.

"You two are so cruel," George says, but turns around, anyway, waving around an airy hand. "Well, you two'd better wrap it up quickly, because we've got work, Fred."

When he's gone, we look back at each other, and start laughing.

"I suppose we better had wrap this up quickly," Fred concedes, twirling a lock of my hair between his fingers.

"I suppose so. So much for all the time in the world," I say, mocking his voice and smiling slightly at him.

"First of all, I definitely don't sound like that," he begins firmly. "Second of all, I still mean what I say completely. Think about it, only a couple more months until the year's over, then you've only got the one year and you're done."

"That's true," I say. "Really scary, though, now thinking about it."

"Ah, don't worry about it," he says, waving a hand airily. "You'll be fine, I know it."

"I appreciate the vote of confidence," I say, smiling slightly, grab his tie, and pull him to me in a kiss.

He smiles as he kisses me back, placing his hands on the wall above either side of my head. I let out a sigh against his lips and move my hands to grip the fabric of his magenta robes, bringing him closer to me. Dear God, was I going to miss him. I manage to force myself to snap out of the bliss of it all and pull away from him, though, causing him to let out a groan.

"We'd better get back to them," I state. "Besides, who knows what George has gone and said to them - your parents included."

"Good point," he says, chuckling, and follows me back to the kitchen, where everyone is currently focusing on saying goodbye to George, who luckily hadn't made any announcement worse than the fact that we were 'sucking each other's faces off,' to quote him.

 

***

 

Later that afternoon, Harry, Ron, Ginny, and I line up beside the kitchen fire to return to Hogwarts. The Ministry has arranged this one-off connection to the Floo Network to return students quickly and safely to the school. Only Mrs. Weasley is here to see us off, as Mr. Weasley, Fred, George, Bill, and Fleur are all at work. Mrs. Weasley dissolves in tears at the moment of parting; admittedly, it doesn't take very much to set her off lately. She has been crying on and off ever since the fiasco with Percy at Christmas lunch.

"Don't cry, Mum," Ginny says, patting her mother's back as she sobs into her shoulder. "IT's okay..."

"Yeah, don't worry about us," says Ron, permitting Mrs. Weasley to plant a very wet kiss on his cheek, then continues, as she moves on to hug me, "or about Percy. He's such a prat, it's not really a loss, is it?"

Mrs. Weasley sobs harder than ever as she hugs Harry.

"Promise me you'll look after yourself... stay out of trouble..."

"I always do, Mrs. Weasley," Harry says. "I like a quiet life, you know me."

She gives a watery chuckle and stands back, "Be good, then, all of you..."

Harry steps into the emerald fire and shouts, "Hogwarts!"

He goes swirling out of sight. I wait several moments, before stepping into the fire myself and shouting the same thing. I have one last fleeting view of the Weasleys' kitchen and Mrs. Weasley's tearful face before the flames engulf me; spinning very fast, I catch blurred glimpses over other rooms, all of which are whipped out of sight before I can get a good look. Somewhere along the way, I end up swallowing a mouthful of ash, and end up coughing it up until I come to a stop in the fireplace of Professor McGonagall's office, where Harry is standing. They both look at me as I clamber out of the fireplace, still coughing out ash.

Finally, when I'm alright, I turn to McGonagall and casually say, but in a hoarse voice, "Evening, Professor."

"Good evening, Knight. Be careful not to get too much ash on the carpet - and in your throat," she adds as an afterthought.

"No, Professor," I say, exchanging looks with Harry and trying not to laugh.

I fix my hair absently as Ron comes swirling into view. When Ginny arrives, the four of us troop out of Professor McGonagall's office to Gryffindor tower. I glance out the corridor windows as we pass; the sun is already sinking over grounds carpeted in snow deeper than that of the snow in the Burrow's garden. In the distance, I can see Hagrid feeding Buckbeak in front of his cabin and make a mental note to visit them both soon.

"Baubles," Ron says confidently, as we reach the Fat Lady, who is looking paler than usual and winces at his loud voice.

"No," she says.

"What d'you mean, 'no'?"

"There is a new password," she replies. "And please don't shout."

"But we've been away - how are we supposed to - ?"

"Harry! Hazel! Ginny!"

Hermione is hurrying towards us, very pink-faced and wearing a cloak, hat, and gloves.

"I got back a couple hours ago, I've just been down to visit Hagrid and Buck - I mean - Witherwings," she says breathlessly. "Did you have a good Christmas?"

"Yeah," Ron replies, "pretty eventful, Rufus Scrim - "

"I've got something for you, Harry," Hermione says, neither looking at Ron or giving any sign that she heard him. "Oh, hang on - password. Abstinence."

"Precisely," the Fat Lady says in a feeble voice, and swings forward to reveal the portrait hole.

"What's up with her?" I say, letting out a small laugh.

"Overindulged over Christmas, apparently," Hermione says, rolling her eyes as she leads the way into the packed common room. "She and her friend Violent drank their way through all the wine in that picture of drunk monks by the Charms corridor. Anyway..." she rummages in her pocket for a moment, then pulls out a scroll of parchment with Dumbledore's handwriting on it.

"Great," Harry says, unrolling the parchment and reading out that his next lesson is to take place the next night. "I've got loads to tell him - and you. Let's sit down - "

But at that moment, there's a great squeal of 'Won-Won' and Lavender Brown comes hurtling out of nowhere to throw herself into Ron's arms. Several onlookers snigger; I look up at the ceiling determinedly and bite down on my lip, trying very hard not to laugh or make any comments; Hermione lets out a tinkling laugh and says, "There's a table over there... coming, Ginny?"

"No, thanks, I said I'd meet Dean," Ginny says, but she doesn't look very enthusiastic about it. I remember what she had told me over the holidays about how she and Dean have been arguing a lot lately. Leaving Ron and Lavender in something of a vertical wrestling match, Harry leads Hermione and I over to the spare table.

"So, how was your Christmas?"

"Oh, fine," Hermione shrugs. "Nothing special. How was it at Won-Won's?"

"We'll tell you in a minute," I say. "Look, Hermione, can't you - ?"

"No, I can't," Hermione says flatly. "So don't even ask."

"I thought maybe, you know, over Christmas - "

"It was the Fat Lady who drank a vat of five hundred year-old wine, Harry, not me. So what was this important news that you wanted to tell me?"

She looks too fierce to argue with at the moment, so Harry and I exchange slightly exasperated looks and the former tells her about the encounter between Snape and Malfoy that he had overheard.

When he finishes, Hermione sits, looking deep in thought for a moment, before saying, "Don't you think - ?"

" - he was pretending to offer help so that he could see what Malfoy was doing?" Harry finishes.

"Well, yes."

"Ron's dad and Remus think so," Harry says grudgingly. "But this definitely proves that Malfoy's something, you can't deny that."

"No, I can't," Hermione says slowly.

"And he's acting on Voldemort's orders, just like I said!"

"Hmm... did either of them actually mention Voldemort?" Hermione says.

Harry frowns, trying to remember, then says, "I'm not sure... Snape definitely said 'your master,' and who else can that be?"

"I don't know," Hermione says, biting her lip. "Maybe Malfoy's father?"

She stares across the room, looking lost in thought, apparently not even noticing that Lavender is currently tickling Ron.

"How's Lupin?" she asks.

"Not great," Harry replies, and together, he and I tell Hermione about his mission among the werewolves and the difficulties he's facing. Then, Harry asks, "Have you heard of this Fenrir Greyback?"

"Yes, I have!" Hermione says, sounding startled. "And so have the both of you!"

"When, History of Magic? You know full well we never listened..."

"No, no, not History of Magic - Malfoy threatened Borgin with him!" Hermione says, and my eyes widen at realising she's right. "Back in Knockturn Alley, don't you remember? He told Borgin that Greyback was an old family friend and that he'd be checking up on Borgin's process!"

Harry gapes at her, saying, "I forgot! But that proves Malfoy is a Death Eater, how else could he be in contact with Fenrir Greyback and be able to tell him what to do?"

"It is pretty suspicious," breathes Hermione. "Unless..."

"Oh, come on," Harry says in exasperation, "there's no way you can get around this one!"

"Well... there is the possibility it was an empty threat."

"You're unbelievable, you are," Harry says, shaking his head. "We'll see who's right... you'll be eating your words, Hermione, just like the Ministry. Oh, yeah, I had a row with Rufus Scrimgeour, as well..."

And the rest of the night passes amicably with the three of us abusing the Ministry and the Minister, because Hermione, just like Ron and I, believe that after all the Ministry had put Harry through the previous year, they have a great deal of nerve to be asking him for help now.

The new term starts the next morning with a pleasant surprise for the sixth years: a large sign has been pinned to the common room notice boards the previous night.

_APPARITION LESSONS_

_If you are seventeen years of age, or will turn seventeen on or before August 31st next, you are eligible for a twelve-week course of Apparition lessons from a Ministry of Magic Apparition instructor. Please sign below if you'd like to participate. Cost: 12 Galleons._

Hermione and I manage to make our way to the front of the crowd and sign our names. Harry and Ron soon join us, and the later is just taking out his quill to sign after Hermione, when Lavender creeps up behind him, slips her hands over his eyes, and says, "Guess who, Won-Won?" I turn to see Hermione stalking off, and Harry and I catch up with her quickly, having no desire to stay behind with Ron and Lavender, but to my surprise, Ron soon joins us, his ears bright red and his expression disgruntled. Without a word, Hermione speeds up to talk to Neville.

"So - Apparition," Ron says, his tone making it clear that Harry and I are not to talk about what just happened. "Should be a laugh, eh?"

"I dunno," I say. "Maybe it's better when you do it yourself, but I didn't enjoy it much when your dad took me along for the ride."

"Yeah, I didn't fancy it much, either," Harry agrees.

"I forgot you've both already done it... I'd better pass my test the first time," Ron says, looking anxious. "Fred and George did."

"Charlie failed, though, didn't he?" I point out.

"Yeah, but he's bigger than me - " Ron holds out his arms as though he's a gorilla - "so Fred and George didn't go on about it much... not to his face, anyway..."

"When can we take the actual test?" Harry asks.

"Soon as we're seventeen," Ron replies. "That's only March for me!"

"Yeah, but you won't be able to Apparate here, not in the castle," Harry points out.

"Not the point, is it? Everyone would know what I could Apparate if I wanted."

Ron is not the only one excited about the prospect of Apparition. All day there is much talk about the forthcoming lessons; a great deal of stone is set by being able to vanish and reappear at will.

"How cool will it be when we can just - " Seamus clicks his fingers to indicate disappearance. "My cousin Fergus does it just to annoy me, you wait until I can do it back... he'll never have another peaceful moment."

Lost in visions of this happy prospect, he flicks his wand a little too enthusiasticaly, so that instead of producing the fountain of pure water that is the object of today's Charms lesson, he lets out a horse-like jet that ricochets off the ceiling and knocks Professor Flitwick flat on his face.

"Harry and Hazel have already Apparated," Ron tells a slightly abashed Seamus, after Flitwick had dried off and set Seamus the lines: 'I am a wizard, not a baboon brandishing a stick.' "Dum - erm - my dad took them both. Side-Along Apparition, you know."

"Whoa!" whispers Seamus, as he, Dean, and Neville put their heads closer to hear what Apparition feels like.

For the rest of the day, both Harry and I talk about the feeling of Apparition to every sixth year who asks, all of them being awed, as opposed to put off, when we tell them that it's actually a very uncomfortable experience, and I'm still answering questions on my way back from the library later that evening, when Jace and Devon appear, insist profusely that they need to borrow me for a moment, and drag me away.

"Thank you," I say gratefully. "If one more person asked me how Apparition felt - "

"Hey, Hazel," Jace says suddenly. "I've heard you Apparated, how does it - "

"Finish that sentence and I promise you won't live to see another day, Jace Landon," I threaten.

He lets out a laugh, and Devon says, as he's in his seventh year and already passed his Apparition test, "Don't worry, he's already hounded me for answers. You haven't got to worry with this one - well, in terms of Apparition, anyway. I have a feeling we're about to be worrying about him soon enough."

"What d'you mean?" I ask, looking at him in confusion.

"D'you remember when we first met, and you said that we'd all have to get in a bit of mischief sometime this year?" Devon says. "Well, we've decided that that time is now. And don't you worry, because we're already got a brilliant plan."

"And that brilliant plan would be?" I say, raising my eyebrows but feeling very excited about what's in store.

"Two words," Jace pipes up. "Evan Nelson."

"Who?" I say blankly.

"Evan Nelson," he repeats. "He's this obnoxious, annoying little git in fifth year. He's in Ravenclaw and a prefect, so unfortunately, I have to see loads of him. Anyway, he's really been pissing me off lately, so I think we ought to bring him back in line."

"And how would we go about doing that?"

Immediately, they launch into the details of their plan, which includes me distracting Evan while he's at the library (he goes everyday at six thirty without fail), while Jace and Devon put Bulbadox powder in his bag and jinx his textbooks to scream whenever he opens them, then casually strolling out of the library as though the whole event had never happened. While they explain the plan, they tell me all about the horrible things Evan has done, so that I'm not left with any doubt about pranking him.

"Sounds like a plan. And our little prefect is definitely doing it, is he?" I add, nudging Jace and grinning.

" _Yes_ , I am," Jace says indignantly. "I'll have you know, most of this was my idea."

"Really?" I say, raising my eyebrows slightly but smiling. "Hmm, I suppose you'd better go and hand that badge to Dumbledore right now. Your life as a lawbreaker is already in full swing - "

"Shut up, Hazel," Jace grumbles, while Devon and I laugh and the former ruffles his hair.

"So, when are we doing this, then?" I ask.

"Tomorrow," Jace replies matter-of-factly. "The sooner the better, don't you think?"

"I agree," I say very seriously, nodding, then add with a sarcastic bow, "Well, until then."

"Until then," they say in unison, returning the bow over-dramatically and laughing.

Grinning, I wave them goodbye and hurry over to the Gryffindor tower, wanting to get a great deal of this homework done and out of the way before it starts piling up later in the week.

 

***

 

The next day, Harry tells Ron, Hermione, and I about the task Dumbledore had set him the previous night during the lesson (of course, he has to tell Ron and Hermione separately, since they're still fighting). Dumbledore had first shown him a memory of Voldemort meeting Morfin (his mother's brother) and told Harry how that was the day Voldemort killed his father and his grandparents, then planted a false memory on Morfin so that it would be him who got found guilty. Dumbledore then showed him a second memory, one of Voldemort while he was in school, and as it turns out, he was one of Slughorn's favourite students. He had asked Slughorn, once they were alone, about Horcruxes, but just as he did, dense fog filled Slughorn's office and all that could be heard was Slughorn insisting that he knows nothing about Horcruxes; Slughorn had tampered with his own memory, because he was ashamed of the truth, and now Dumbledore wants Harry to retrieve the real memory from Slughorn.

Ron finds it unlikely that Harry will have any trouble with this task at all.

"He loves you," he says over breakfast, waving an airy forkful of fried egg. "Won't refuse you anything, will he? Not his little Potions Prince. Just hang back after class and ask him."

I'm not so certain.

"I dunno, he must be really ashamed of what happened if he's willing to tamper with his own memories and wouldn't let Dumbledore get it out of him," I concede. "I mean, I don't think Dumbledore would've asked you to do this if he knew you could never manage it, and Slughorn does love you, but... you're going to have to be really, really, really careful about this."

Hermione takes a view similar to mine.

"He must be really determined to hide it if Dumbledore couldn't get it out of him," she says in a low voice, as we stand in the deserted, snowy courtyard at break. "Horcruxes... Horcruxes... I've never even heard of them."

"You haven't?" Harry says, sounding disappointed.

"They must be really advancing Dark magic, or else why would Voldemort have wanted to know about them? I think it's going to be difficult to get the information, Harry, you'll have to be very careful about how you approach Slughorn... think out a strategy..."

"Ron reckons I should just hang back after Potions this afternoon..."

I almost wince at the mention of Ron, dreading how Hermione will react to it. She reacts exactly how I had expected her to react.

"Oh, well, if Won-Won thinks that, you'd better do it," she flares up at once. "After all, when has Won-Won's judgement ever been faulty?"

"Hermione, can't you and Ron just - "

"No!" she says angrily, and storms away, leaving Harry and I standing alone and ankle-deep in snow.

Potions lessons are uncomfortable enough these days, seeing as Ron and Hermione have to share a desk. Today, Hermione moves her cauldron around so that she's close to Ernie, ignores Harry and Ron, and acts particularly cold towards me.

"What've you done?" Ron asks, looking at Hermione's haughty profile.

Before either of us can answer, Slughorn is calling for silence at the front of the room.

"Settle down, settle down, please! Quickly, now, lots of work to get through this afternoon! Golpalott's Third Law... who can tell me - but Miss Granger can, of course!"

"Golpalott's-Third-Law-states-that-the-antidote-for-a-blended-poison-will-be-equal-to-more-then-the-sum-of-the-antidotes-for-each-of-the-separate-components."

"Precisely!" Slughorn beams. "Ten points for Gryffindor! Now, if we accept Golpalott's Third Law as true..."

I'm going to have to take Slughorn's word that it is true, because I'm struggling to understand what's coming out of Slughorn's mouth, as though it's some language that I'm somewhat familiar with, but not enough to understand it very well under most circumstances. Nobody apart from Hermione seems to be following, either.

"... which means, of course, assuming that we have achieved correct identification of the Potion's ingredients by Scarpin's Revelaspell, our primary aim is not the relatively simple one of selecting the antidotes to those ingredients in and of themselves, but to find that added component which will, by an almost alchemical process, transform these disparate elements - "

Ron is sitting with his mouth half open, doodling on his copy of  _Advanced Potion-Making_ ; he keeps forgetting that he can no longer rely on Hermione to help him out of trouble when he fails to grasp what's going on. I shake my head and look away, focusing on Slughorn's words, thinking them over carefully.

"... and so," finishes Slughorn, "I want each of you to come and take one of these phials from my desk. You are to create an antidote for the poison within it before the end of the lesson. Good luck, and don't forget your protective gloves!"

Hermione has left her stool and is halfway towards Slughorn's desk before the rest of the class had realised it was time to move, and by the time Harry, Ron, Ernie, and I have returned to the table, she's tipping the contents of her phial into her cauldron and kindling a fire underneath it.

Deciding not to do anything before I fully understand the theory, I open my copy of  _Advanced Potion-Making_ and turn to page on Antidotes. I read it over and over again, muttering the words under my breath as I go, also thinking of Slughorn's explanation, until suddenly understanding whooshes over me and my eyes widen slightly.

" _Oh_!" whisper, then get rather irritated as I tip the contents of my phial into my cauldron and kindle a fire underneath. "Well, why didn't they just put it like  _that_?"

I set to work, working as quickly as possible to make up for lost time, but still being very careful, not wanting to mess anything up. I make it just past the halfway mark when Slughorn genially calls, "Time's... UP! Well, let's see how you've done! Blaise... what have you got for me?"

I look down at my antidote, which is bubbling sluggishly, and get the impression that I haven't done it right, so I look around the table. Hermione's cauldron looks similar to mine, Ernie and Ron's cauldrons are both emitting putrid fumes, though Ron's is a bit worse, and he's give up completely, just trying not to breathe in any of the fumes from his cauldron. Harry, to my surprise, is only clutching something that looks like a stone that resembles a dried-up kidney more than anything else. Slughorn reaches our table last. He gives Hermione's cauldron a nod, does the same to mine, sniffs Ernie's cauldron and passes over to Ron's with a grimace, but ends up backing away from Ron's cauldron swiftly, retching slightly.

"And you, Harry?" Slughorn says. "What have you got to show me?"

Harry holds up the hand carrying the kidney-looking stone. Slughorn does nothing but stare down at him for a full ten seconds. I wonder, for a split second, if he's going to shout at him, but then Slughorn throws his head back and laughs.

"You've got nerve, boy!" he booms, taking the stone and holding it up so that the class can see it. "Oh, you're like your mother... well, I can't fault you... a bezoar would certainly act as an antidote to all these poisons!"

A bezoar... hadn't Snape mentioned that in class, back when he was still teaching Potions? It must have been in first year... 'A stone taken from the stomach of a goat, and it will save you from most poisons...'

Hermione, meanwhile, who is sweaty-faced and has soot on her nose, is livid.

"And you thought of a bezoar all by yourself, did you, Harry?" she asks through gritted teeth.

"That's the individual spirit a real potion-maker needs!" Slughorn says happily, before Harry can say anything. "Just like his mother, she had the same intuitive grasp of potion-making, it's undoubtedly from Lily he gets it... yes, Harry, yes, if you've got a bezoar at hand, of course that would do the trick... although they don't work on everything, and are pretty rare, it's still worth knowing how to mix antidotes..."

The only person in the room who looks angrier than Hermione is Malfoy, who had spilled something that looks like cat sick all over himself. Before either of them can express their fury, however, the bell rings.

"Time to pack up!" says Slughorn. "And an extra ten points to Gryffindor for sheer cheek!"

Still chuckling, he waddles back to his desk at the front of the dungeon. Harry dawdles behind, obviously wanting to speak to Slughorn about the memory, so Ron, Hermione, and I move along, the former two looking resentful. Hermione is upset that Harry had come out top of the class yet again without doing any work, and Ron is resentful that Harry hadn't given him a bezoar, too. I'm just incredulous that Harry had actually managed to get away with it... if Snape had still been teaching Potions...

Once Harry returns, he tells Hermione and I that he hadn't been very successful at all in trying to get any information out of Slughorn. Hermione, still furious at Harry, feels no sympathy at all (I get the impression things will be fairly similar with Ron, too), while I give him a sympathetic smile but advise him to go about asking him more carefully next time.

While Hermione goes to the common room and Harry goes to find Ron, I hurry over to the library to meet with Jace and Devon, so we can prank Evan Nelson. Once I enter the library, my eyes scan the room to find Jace and Devon. Once I finally find them, I see why it had been so difficult to find them; they're using big textbooks to hide their faces, their eyes just peeking over the top of the textbooks, looking around the library shiftily. I roll my eyes at them, just as they catch my eye and beckon me over.

"Why are you guys being so bloody - " I begin once I reach them and go to sit down in the chair across from Devon, but Jace cuts me off quickly.

"Oi - don't sit there, sit  _here_ ," he says, jerking his head in the direction of the empty chair beside Devon. As I give him a weird look but relocate, anyway, he says, " _Always_ keep the enemy in sight. Have a book," he adds, pulling another textbook out of his bag and sliding it across the table to me.

"Jace, I've never  _seen_ the enemy before - " I begin, as I take the textbook but don't open it, but he cuts me off again, half-whispering, half-shouting.

" _Use the textbook!_ "

I roll my eyes, but open the textbook to a random page and use it to hide my face, anyway.

"Now, will you  _please_ tell me where this enemy even is for me to keep him in sight?"

"He's right there," Jace whispers, moving his hand around the textbook to point at a tall, mean-faced fifth year boy, with long blond hair and sharp eyes.

"Wait a minute," I say, looking at Jace with my eyes narrowed. "You're talking to  _me_ about being discreet, but you're going to go off pointing at him like a five year-old?"

"He's new to this," Devon points out, looking round at me. He pauses for a moment, looking thoughtful, then grudgingly admits, "and I also made the mistake of showing him spy films over the holidays and now he reckons that's how these things actually work."

I let out a laugh, and the moment I do, there's movement behind us, and we turn to see Madam Pince looking at us accusingly.


	16. The Three D's

**Distance Means Nothing**

**Chapter Sixteen: The Three D's**

 

Harry doesn't question Slughorn again, so the Potions master reverts to his usual affectionate treatment of him, appearing to have put the matter from his mind. However, Slughorn stops scheduling his usual dinner parties - or, at least, he hasn't invited Harry, Hermione, Ginny, me, or anyone else that I know of that usually gets invited - which gives me the impression that perhaps Slughorn hasn't been quite so forgetful, that he's making sure Harry has no other ways to question him.

Meanwhile, the unthinkable has happened: the library has failed Hermione. She's so shocked that she has even forgotten that she's annoyed with Harry for his trick with the bezoar.

"I haven't found one single explanation of what Horcruxes do!" she tells Harry and I. "Not a single one! I've been right through the Restricted Section and even the most horrible books, where they tell you how to brew the most gruesome potions - nothing! All I could find was this, in the introduction to  _Magick Moste Evil_ \- listen - '... of the Horcrux, wickedest of magical inventions, we shall not speak nor give direction...' I mean, why mention it, then?" she says impatiently, slamming the old book shut. It lets out a ghostly wail. "Oh, shut up," she snaps, stuffing the book in her bag.

The snow melts around the school as February arrives, replaced by cold, dreary wetness. Purplish-grey clouds hang low over the castle and a constant fall of chilly rain makes the lawns slippers and muddy. The outcome of this is that the sixth years' first Apparition lesson, which is scheduled for a Saturday morning so that no lessons will be missed, takes place in the Great Hall as opposed to the grounds.

When Ron, Lavender, and I arrive in the Hall (Harry and Hermione had gone down by themselves. Harry and I have decided the best way to deal with this at times is to split up, and Harry had done Ron - who happened to be with Lavender - the last time, meaning it's my turn to be with Ron - and, in extension, Lavender), we find that the tables had disappeared. Rain lashes against the high windows and the enchanted ceiling swirls darkly above us as we assemble in front of Professor McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, and Snape - the Heads of House - and a small wizard who I take to be the Apparition Instructor from the Ministry. He's oddly colourless, with transparent eyelashes, wispy hair, and an insubstantial air, as though a single gust of wind might blow him away. I wonder if constant disappearances and reappearances does this to someone, somehow diminishes their substance, or whether this frail build is ideal for someone wishing to vanish.

"Good morning," says the Ministry wizard, when all the students have arrived and the Heads of House call for silence. "My name is Wilkie Twycross and I shall be your Ministry Apparition Instructor for the next twelve weeks. I hope to be able to prepare you for your Apparition test in this time - "

"Malfoy, be quiet and pay attention!" barks Professor McGonagall.

Everyone looks around. Malfoy has flushed a dull pink; he looks furious as he steps away from Crabbe, with whom he seemed to have been having a whispered argument. While Ron sniggers and Lavender bites back a giggle. I glance around at Snape, who also looks annoyed, though I think that might have less to do with Malfoy's rudeness and more to do with the fact that McGonagall had reprimanded one of his house.

" - by which time, many of you may be ready to take your test," Twycross continues, as though there had been no interruption. "As you may know, it is usually impossible to Apparate or Disapparate within Hogwarts," he goes on ( _thank you, Hermione,_ I think). "The Headmaster has lifted this enchantment, purely within the Great Hall, for one house, so as to enable you to practice. May I emphasise that you will be unable to Apparate outside the walls of his hall, and that you would be unwise to try.

"I would now like you to place yourselves so that you have a clear five feet of space in front of you."

There's a great scrambling and jostling as people separated, banged into each other, and ordered others out of their space. The Heads of House move among the students, marshalling them into position and breaking up arguments. I manage to find myself a space rather easily (all that needs to be done is glare at someone who banged into me particularly hard), and content myself in watching people argue for the rest of the time, until the Heads of House call for quiet and silence falls again.

"Thank you," Twycross says. "Now then..."

He waves his wand, and old-fashioned wooden hoops instantly appear on the floor in front of every student.

"The important thing to remember about Apparition are the three D's!" Twycross says. "Destination, Determination, Deliberation!

"Step one: fix your mind firmly upon the destined destination. In this case, the interior of your hoop. Kindly concentrate upon that destination now."

Everyone looks around furtively, as though checking if everyone else is concentrating hard enough, before hastening to do what they're told. I stare at the circular patch of dusty floor inside my hoop and try very hard to think of nothing else, but that proves to be very difficult, because it's hard to focus on something when you're told to focus on that thing and only that thing, because then your mind always almost deliberately wanders to other things, or focuses on how hard you are or should be focusing instead of just focusing on the thing itself. I give my head a shake and try focusing on it again.

"Step two," Twycross goes on, "focus your determination to occupy the visualised space! Let your yearning to enter it flood from your mind to every particle of your body!

"Step three," he says, "and only when I give the command... turn on the spot, feeling your way into nothingness, moving with deliberation. On my command, now... one - "

I glance around; a lot of people look severely alarmed that they're being asked to Apparate so quickly, and I have to admit it, I'm both shocked and nervous.

" - two - "

I focus back on my hoop and try my best to keep the three D's in my mind: destination, determination... dinumeration? Depressurisation? Wait, no - deliberation!

" - THREE!"

I turn on the spot, lose my balance, and nearly fall over. Looking around the Hall, I'm extremely relieved to see that I'm not the only one. The whole Hall is suddenly full of staggering people; Neville is lying flat on his back; Ernie Macmillan, on the other hand, does a sort of pirouetting leap into his hoop and apparently thinks he had Apparated, because he looks momentarily thrilled, until he catches Dean Thomas roaring with laughter at him.

"Never mind, never mind," Twycross says dryly, seeming not to have expected anything better. "Adjust your hoops, please, and back to your original positions..."

The second attempt is no better than the first. The third attempt is just as bad. On the fourth attempt, however, there's a horrible screech of pain and everyone looks around, terrified, to see Susan Bones wobbling in her hoop with her left leg still standing five feet away where she had started.

The Heads of House move towards her; there's a great bang and a puff of smoke, which clears to reveal a sobbing Susan, reunited with her leg but looking horrified.

"Splinching, or the separation of random body parts," Twycross says dispassionately, "occurs when the mind is insufficiently determined. You must concentrate continually on your destination and move, without haste, but with deliberation, thus..." and Twycross steps forward, turns gracefully on the spot, and vanishes in a swirl of robes, only to reappear at the back of the Hall. "Remember the three D's and try again... one - two - three - "

But an hour later, Susan Splinching is still the most exciting thing that happens. Twycross does not seem discouraged.

Fastening his cloak around his neck, he says, "Until next Saturday, everyone, and do not forget: destination, determination, deliberation."

With that, he waved his wand, Vanishing the hoops, and walks out of the Great Hall accompanied by McGonagall. Talk breaks out as people begin moving for the Entrance Hall.

"How did you do?" Ron asks, as we catch up to Harry. "I think I felt something last time - a kind of tingling in my feet - "

"I expect your trainers are too small, Won-Won," says a voice behind us, and Hermione stalks past us, smirking.

"I'd better go with her - see you two later," I say, giving them a small wave, and hurry off after. Once I draw level with her, I say, "Did you  _really_ have to say that?"

"Why are you taking his side?" she says defensively.

"Since when are there  _sides_?" I say. "All I'm saying is that I really reckon it'd be best if you two just made it up - "

"Not happening," Hermione says shortly.

And the rest of the morning is spent doing homework and trying to convince a stubborn Hermione to change her mind on the situation with Ron.

 

***

 

Harry tells Hermione and I of a conversation that he had overheard between Malfoy and Crabbe during the Apparition lesson. Apparently, Malfoy's using Crabbe and Goyle as lookouts for something, but isn't letting them in on the reason he needs lookouts in the first place. That doesn't surprise me, but I do want to know what Malfoy's doing that requires lookouts. Harry constantly keeps looking on the Marauders' Map, but has yet to catch Malfoy anywhere suspicious, as he tells me.

February turns into March with no change in the weather except for the fact that it is not just wet, but windy, too. To general indignation, a sign goes up on all common room noticeboards with the information that the next Hogsmeade trip has been cancelled.

"It was on my birthday!" Ron says furiously. "I was looking forward to that!"

"Not a big surprise, though, is it?" Harry points out. "Not after what happened to Katie."

Katie still hasn't returned from St. Mungo's. What's more, further disappearances have been reported in the Daily Prophet, including several relatives of Hogwarts students.

"But not all I've got to look forward to is the stupid Apparition lesson!" Ron says grumpily. "Big birthday treat..."

Three lessons in, and Apparition lessons have proven to be as difficult as ever, though a few other people have managed to Splinch themselves. Frustration is running high and there's a certain amount of ill-feeling towards Wilkie Twycross and his three D's, which have inspired a multitude of creative nicknames for him, the politest of which are Dog-Breath and Dung-Head.

On the morning of Ron's birthday, I want to see him in the common room to wish him a happy birthday, but when I don't see him at the common room or at breakfast, I shrug it off and continue spending the day with Hermione, figuring I'll see him soon enough, though I keep an eye on the portrait hole and the door of the boys' dormitories. After a while, though, Demelza Robins comes up to me, a confused yet worried expression on her face.

"Hey, Hazel, d'you know what's up with Ron?" she asks.

My brow furrows and I put my quill down, looking up at her in confusion.

"What do you mean, what's up with him?"

"I saw them carrying him to the hospital wing earlier," she explains.

Hermione and I exchange nervous looks, and the former says, "What - why?"

"I don't know, but he looked awful," Demelza shrugs.

Hermione and I look at each other again; then, in unison, we leap to our feet and run out of the common room, throwing ourselves out of the portrait hole. We run down the corridors and don't stop running until we've reached the door of the hospital wing, which is closed with Harry standing in front of it, hurtling ourselves at the door.

"We've just heard," I pant. "What happened?"

Harry tells us about how Ron had eaten the Chocolate Cauldrons that Romilda Vane had given him a while ago, the ones with a love potion in them, how Harry had taken him to Slughorn to give him the antidote, how Slughorn had given them mead that turned out to be poisoned, and how Harry managed to save him with the use of a bezoar.

"... and Madam Pomfrey won't let me in, either, and she won't say when she'll let me in," he finishes.

Soon after this, Ginny arrives, looking stricken, and so Harry recounts his story once more, and after that, we start speculating about how Ron was poisoned - well, at least, Harry, Ginny, and I do. For the most party, Hermione stands there, clench-jawed and frightened-looking. People come in and out as we visit, including Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and we try to get a glimpse of Ron while the door remains open, but never manage to get a good look.

Finally,  _finally_ , at eight o'clock, Madam Pomfrey lets us in, and we gather around Ron's bed, which is the only occupied one in the hospital wing. Soon after, at ten past, Fred and George enter the hospital wing, looking horrified. When they reach the bed Ron's occupying, they stand on either side of his bed in silence.

Then, Fred says, "So, all in all, not one of Ron's better birthdays?"

"This isn't how we imagined handing over our present," George says grimly, putting a large wrapped gift down on Ron's bedside cabinet and sitting down beside Ginny.

"Yeah, when we pictured the scene, he was conscious," Fred says.

"There we were in Hogsmeade, waiting to surprise him - "

"You were in Hogsmeade?" Ginny asks, looking up.

"We were thinking of buying Zonko's," Fred replies gloomily. "A Hogsmeade branch, you know, but a fat lot of good it'll do us if you lot aren't allowed out on weekends to buy our stuff anymore... but never mind that now."

He draws up a chair beside me and looks down at Ron's pale face.

"How exactly did it happen, Harry?"

And so once again, Harry retells his story.

"... and then I got the bezoar down his throat and his breathing eased up a bit, Slughorn ran for help, McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey turned up, and they brought Ron up here. They reckon he'll be alright. Madam Pomfrey says he'll stay here for a week or so... keep taking essence of rue..."

"Blimey, it was lucky you thought of a bezoar," George says in a low voice.

"Lucky there was one in the room," says Harry, and my body goes cold at the thought of what might have happened if Harry couldn't find a bezoar.

Hermione gives an almost inaudible sniff.

"Do Mum and Dad know?" Fred asks Ginny.

"They've already seen him, they arrived an hour ago - they're in Dumbledore's office now, but they'll be back soon..."

There's a pause in which we all watch Ron mumble a little in his sleep.

"So the poison was in the drink?" Fred says quietly.

"Yes," Harry says at once. "Slughorn poured it out - "

"Would he have been able to slip something in Ron's glass without you noticing?"

"Probably," Harry replies, "but why would Slughorn want to poison Ron?"

"Non idea," Fred says, frowning. "You don't think he could've mixed up the glasses by mistake? Meaning to get you?"

"Why would Slughorn want to poison Harry?" says Ginny.

"I dunno," Fred replies, "but there must be loads of people who'd like to poison Harry, mustn't there? 'The Chosen One' and all that?"

"So you think Slughorn's a Death Eater?" Ginny asks.

"Anything's possible," Fred answers darkly.

"He could be under the Imperius Curse," George suggests.

"Or he could be innocent," I interject. "The poison might have been in the bottle itself, which would mean that the poison was meant for Slughorn himself."

"Who's want to poison Slughorn?"

"Dumbledore reckons Voldemort wanted Slughorn on his side," Harry states. "Slughorn was in hiding for a year before he came to Hogwarts. And... and maybe Voldemort wants Slughorn out of the way, maybe he thinks he could be valuable to Dumbledore."

"But you said Slughorn had been planning to give that bottle to Dumbledore for Christmas," Ginny reminds him. "So the poisoner could've just as easily been after Dumbledore."

"Then the poisoner didn't know Slughorn very well," Hermione says, speaking for the first time in hours and sounding like she has a bad head cold. "Anyone who knew Slughorn would've known there was a good chance that he'd keep something that tasty for himself."

"Er-my-knee," croaks Ron unexpectedly from between us.

We all fall silent, watching him anxiously, but after muttering incomprehensibly for a moment he merely starts snoring.

The doors fly open, making us all jump. Hagrid comes striding toward us, his hair rain-flecked, his bearskin overcoat flapping behind him, a crossbow in hand, leaving a trail of dolphin-sized footprints on the floor.

"Bin in the forest all day!" he pants. "Aragog's worse, I've bin readin' to him - didn' get up ter dinner 'til jus' now then Professor Sprout told me abou' Ron! How is he?"

"Not bad," Harry replies. "They say he'll be okay."

"No more than seven visitors at a time!" Madam Pomfrey says, hurrying out from her office.

"Hagrid makes seven," George points out.

"Oh.. yes..." Madam Pomfrey says, who seems to have counted Hagrid as several people due to his vastness. To cover her confusion, she hurries off to clear up his muddy footprints with her wand.

"I don' believe this," Hagrid says hoarsely, shaking his great, shaggy head as he looks down at Ron. "Jus' don' believe it... look at him lyin' there... who'd want ter hurt him, eh?"

"That's just what we were discussing," Harry says. "We don't know."

"Someone couldn' have a grudge against the Quidditch team, could they?" Hagrid says anxiously. "First Katie, then Ron..."

"I can't see anyone trying to bump off a Quidditch team," says George.

"Wood might've done the Slytherins if he could've got away with it," Fred points out fairly.

"Well, I don't think it's Quidditch, but I think there's a connection between the attacks," Hermione says.

"How'd you work that one out?" asks Fred.

"Well, for one thing, they both ought to have been fatal, but they weren't, although that was pure luck. And for another, neither the necklace nor poison seems to have reached the person it was supposed to have killed. Of course," she adds broodingly, "that makes the person even more dangerous in a way, because they don't seem to care how many people they finish off, as long as they actually reach their victim."

Before anyone can respond to this ominous statement, the doors open again and in come Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, hurrying up the ward. They had done no more than satisfy themselves that Ron would make a full recovery on their last visit to the ward; now Mrs. Weasley seizes hold of Harry and hugs him very tightly.

"Dumbledore told us about how you saved him with the bezoar," she sobs. "Oh, Harry, what can I say? You saved Ginny... you saved Arthur... now you've saved Ron."

"Don't be... I didn't..." Harry mutters awkwardly.

"Half of our family does owe you our lives, now that I stop and think about it," Mr. Weasley says in a constricted voice. "Well, all I can say was that it was a lucky day for the Weasleys the day Ron decided to sit in your compartment on the Hogwarts Express, Harry."

Before Harry can say anything to that, Madam Pomfrey reminds us that there's only supposed to be six visitors around Ron's bed. Harry, Hermione, Hagrid and I all leave the hospital wing, leaving Ron with his family.

"It's terrible," Hagrid growls, as the three of us walk along the corridor to the marble staircase. "All this new security, an' kids are still gettin' hurt... Dumbledore's worried sick... he don' say much, but I can tell..."

"Hasn't he got any ideas, Hagrid?" Hermione says desperately.

"I expect he's hot hundreds, brain like his," Hagrid replies. "But he doesn' know who sent that necklace nor who put poison in that wine, or they'd've bin caught, wouldn' they? Wha' worries me," Hagrid continues, lowering his voice and looking over his shoulder (I check the ceiling for Peeves, for good measure), "is how long Hogwarts can stay open if kids keep bein' attacked. Chamber o' Secrets all over again, isn' it? There'll be panic, more parents takin' their kids out of school, an' nex' thing yeh know the board o' governors..." hs tops talking as the ghost of a long-haired woman drifts serenely past, then resumes in a hoarse whisper, "... the board o' governors'll be talkin' abou' shuttin' us up fer good."

"Surely not?" Hermione says, looking worried.

"Gotta see it from their point o' view," Hagrid says heavily. "I mean, it's always bin a bit o' a risk, sendin' a kid to Hogwarts, hasn' it? Yeh expect accidents, don' yeh, with hundreds of underage wizards locked tergether, but attempted murder... tha's diff'rent. 'S'no wonder Dumbledore's angry with Sn - "

Hagrid stops in his tracks, the familiar, guilty expression on what's visible of his face under his black beard, the expression that always follows Hagrid saying something that he wasn't supposed to say.

"What?" Harry says. "Dumbledore's angry with Snape?"

"I never said tha'," Hagrid says, though the look of panic on his face is a dead giveaway. "Look at the time, it's gettin' on fer midnight, I need ter - "

"Hagrid, why is Dumbledore angry with Snape?" Harry asks loudly.

"Shhh!" Hagrid says, both nervous and angry. "Don' shout abou' stuff like that, Harry, d'yeh want me ter lose my job? Mind, I don' suppose yeh'd care, would yeh, now you've dropped Care of Mag - "

"Don't try and make me feel guilty, it won't work!" Harry says forcefully. "What's Snape done?"

"I dunno, Harry, I shouldn'ta heard it at all! I - well, I was comin' outta the forest the other evenin' an' I overheard 'em talkin' - well, arguin'. Didn' like ter draw attention to meself, so I sorta skulked an' tried not ter listen, but it was - well, a heated discussion and it wasn' easy ter block out."

"Well?" Harry says, as Hagrid shuffles his enormous feet uneasily.

"Well - I jus' heard Snape sayin' Dumbledore took too much fer granted an' maybe he - Snape - didn' want ter do it anymore - "

"Do what?"

"I dunno, Hazel, it sounds like Snape was feelin' a bit overworked, tha's all - anyway, Dumbledore told him flat out he'd agreed ter do it an' that's all there was to it. Pretty firm with him. An' then he said summat about Snape making investigations in his house, in Slytherin. Well, there's nothin' strange abou' that!" Hagrid adds hastily, as Harry, Hermione, and I exchange meaningful looks. "All the Heads o' House were asked ter look inter that necklace business - "

"Yeah, but Dumbledore's not having rows with the rest of them, is he?" Harry retorts.

"Look," Hagrid twists his crossbow uncomfortably in his hands; then there's a loud splintering sound and it splits in two. "I know what yeh're like abou' Snape, Harry, an' I don' want yeh ter go readin' more inter this than there is."

"Look out," Hermione says tersely.

We turn around just in time to see the shadow of Argus Filch looming over the wall just behind us, before the man himself turns the corner, hunchbacked, his jowls acquiver.

"Oho!" he says. "Out of bed so late, this'll mean detention!"

"No, it won', Filch," Hagrid says shortly. "They're with me, aren' they?"

"And what difference does that make?" Filch asks obnoxiously.

"I'm a ruddy teacher, aren' I, yeh sneakin' Squib!" Hagrid says, firing up at once.

There's a nasty hissing noise as Filch swells with fury. Mrs. Norris has arrived, unseen, and is twisting herself sinuously around Filch's skinny ankles.

"Get goin'," Hagrid says out of the corner of his mouth.

Harry, Hermione, and I don't need to be told twice. The three of us hurry off, Hagrid and Filch's raised voices echoing behind us as we run. We pass Peeves near turning toward Gryffindor tower, but he doesn't seem to notice us; he is streaking happily towards the source of the yelling, cackling and calling:

_When there's strife and when there's trouble,_

_Call on Peevsie, he'll make it double!_

The Fat Lady had been fast asleep and isn't very pleased to be woken up, but swings forward to allow us into the mercifully peaceful and empty common room. It does not seem like very many people know about Ron quite yet. Hermione and I bid Harry goodnight and set off for our dormitory.

Once there, we don't talk much; just change silently and crawl into our respective beds, but it's obvious we won't be sleeping much. My head is swimming; with worries about Ron, curiosity about who had poisoned him, and what Hagrid had told us...

So Dumbledore had argued with Snape. Dumbledore doesn't think he had tried hard enough to investigate the Slytherins... is it all the Slytherins Dumbledore wants investigated, or one in particular? Could it have been Malfoy? Hadn't Harry told Dumbledore about his suspicions about Malfoy? But then again, hadn't Harry said that Dumbledore said there was nothing in these suspicions? Then again, maybe Dumbledore didn't want Harry to do anything foolish, to try to take matters into his own hands... or maybe he wanted Harry to focus on their lessons and retrieving the memory... or maybe Dumbledore just doesn't fancy confiding his suspicions about his staff to sixteen year-olds... that one seems rather likely.

Then I give my head a slight shake, because out of all of Slytherin house, there are plenty of people that might need to be investigated, and that assuming to be Malfoy might be jumping to conclusions when there are so many other blanks to be filled. I turn over on my side, squeeze my eyes shut, and try to force sleep to come to me - but this tactic doesn't work until an hour later.


	17. Cats and Scars

**Distance Means Nothing**

**Chapter Seventeen: Cats and Scars**

 

The news that Ron had been poisoned spreads quickly the next day, but it does not cause the same sensation that Katie's attack had done. People think that it might have been an accident, considering that he had been in the Potions master's room at the time, and that he had been given the antidote immediately, no real harm done. In fact, Gryffindors are much more interested in the upcoming Quidditch match against Hufflepuff, for many of them want to see Zacharias Smith, who plays Chaser on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, punished soundly for his commentary during the match against Slytherin. I can't help but agree with them, especially since Smith is the reason I ended up in the hospital wing for the weekend of the match last year.

Along with the pressures of the Quidditch match, I also have to deal with homework, Cormac McLaggen, and Lavender Brown, and I'm not sure which of the latter two is more annoying. As Ron isn't going to be in a fit state to play for the match, McLaggen is replacing him as Keeper, since he had been second best at the tryouts. He likes providing Harry with detailed training schemes, so that Harry has to remind him of who really is Captain, and he's keen to criticise other players. One time before we had gone out for practice, McLaggen reminds me patronisingly not to fly too close to the sun, the way I always do, because it'll impair my vision. When I mime choking him behind his back as he leaves the changing rooms, Harry notices and lets out a laugh.

"You know, you do fly too close to the sun, sometimes, though," Harry points out, grinning. When I glare at him fiercely, he repeats, raising his hands in surrender but grinning more broadly, " _Sometimes._ "

I glare at him for longer, before looking away and grudgingly saying, "I know. I always get too eager when I'm flying, I'm trying to work on it. What can I say? I'm like Icarus."

When Harry tells me that McLaggen keeps hinting that he'd make a much better permanent Keeper than Ron and that Harry must be seeing it now that McLaggen has the opportunity to play more, I mime vomiting, and Harry and I spend a good amount of time making a list of people we'd rather be permanent Keeper (Ron not included), such as the one person who had tried out for Keeper and had saved his only shot by being in the way and getting hit in the face with it, the group of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws who had showed up for the trial, and many,  _many_ other people.

Meanwhile, Lavender is keen to discuss Ron at length with me. At first, Lavender had been very annoyed that nobody had thought to tell her that Ron's in the hospital wing ("I mean, I'm his  _girlfriend!_ "), but has now let this slide so that we can have in-depth conversations about Ron's feelings, a world which I could live my entire life without delving into too deeply - a world where I'd  _much rather_ live my entire life without delving into too deeply.

"Hazel, you've got experience with these things," she says one day, and I just barely manage to turn my laugh into a hacking cough. "What d'you reckon Ron means when he says he thought my dress robes are nice?"

"Well, in my  _experience,_ " I say uncertainly, looking at her in confusion, "it usually means that he thinks your dress robes are nice, but..."

"Yes, but boys always say one thing and mean the other," she insists. "You must know that."

"Well - yes, that's right, but - why don't you just talk about this with Ron?" I finally ask.

"Well, I would, but he's always asleep when I go to see him!" Lavender informs me fretfully.

"Is he?" I say, surprised, because Ron is always perfectly alert every time I've been to see him, always eager to discuss anything going on in the school (such as the fact that Dumbledore had argued with Snape) and to insult McLaggen whenever possible.

"Is Hermione Granger still visiting him?" Lavender demands.

"Yeah," I reply truthfully yet rather uncomfortably. "Well, as is expected, they're friends, aren't they?"

"Friends?  _Friends?_ Don't make me laugh!" she says scornfully. "She didn't talk to him for  _weeks_ after he started going out with me! But I suppose she's keen to make it up with him now that he's all interesting..."

"Interesting?" I repeat incredulously. "He's been poisoned! I don't think that's what Hermione constitutes as interesting... anyway, though, I've got to head down to Quidditch practice, or I'll be late... see you later," I say, hurry upstairs to grab my broom, and head down for the Quidditch pitch, where I'll be spared from talking about Ron's feelings for a while longer.

On the morning of the Quidditch match, I wake up with the same feeling of excitement and nerves battling to win out as my most prominent emotion. When Hermione, Ginny, and I walk out of the Great Hall for the Quidditch pitch, Ginny and I joke around and tease each other in order to try and let out nerves. Hermione leaves us at the pitch to head for the stands, while Ginny and I enter the changing rooms.

"Where's Harry?" Ginny asks, scanning the room to see that he's absent.

Dean, Demelza, Jimmy, and McLaggen all either shrug or gesture around aimlessly, looking lost.

"If you ask me, it's pretty bad for the Captain of a team to be late," McLaggen states haughtily. "If anyone should be showing punctual, responsible actions, it should be him - "

"Yes, well, sadly nobody did ask you, so keep it to yourself," I say shortly, changing into my robes. McLaggen glares at me, a gesture which I return fiercely, until he looks away. When he does, I turn to Ginny and mutter, "Where d'you reckon Harry's gone?"

"Who knows with him?" Ginny replies. "But he'd better turn up soon, or I'll kill him."

"And I'll help," I say, very seriously, and she grins at me.

Finally, as the match is just about to start and Demelza and Jimmy are nervously hitting their clubs against their legs, Harry sprints into the changing rooms.

"Where have you been?" Ginny demands.

"I met Malfoy," Harry tells us quietly, pulling his scarlet robes over his head. "So I wanted to know what he was doing up in the castle with a couple of girlfriends while everyone else is down here..."

"Does it matter right now?"

"Well, I'm not likely to find out now, am I?" Harry says, seizing his Firebolt and straightening his glasses. "Come on, then!"

And with that, he marches out of the changing rooms and onto the pitch, the rest of us following behind him, walking onto the pitch to defeaning cheers and boos. There's little wind; the clouds are patchy; every now and then there are dazzling flashes of bright sunlight, which could prove to be a visibility problem.

"Tricky conditions!" McLaggen says bracingly to the team. "Robins, Peakes, you'll want to flu out of the sun, so they don't see you coming - "

"I'm the Captain, McLaggen, shut up giving them instructions," Harry says angrily. "Just get up by the goal posts!"

Once McLaggen has marched off, Harry turns back to Jimmy and Demelza.

"Make sure you do fly out of the sun," Harry tells them grudgingly, and I resist the urge to laugh.

He shakes hands with Smith, and then, on Madam Hooch's whistle, we all kick off into the air. Smith grabs hold of the Quaffle immediately, and my eyes narrow, determination solidifying inside of me.

 _Right, Zacharias Smith, time for a little revenge..._ I think, speeding off after him, then I add, as an afterthought,  _the_ fair _way of course._

"And that's Smith of Hufflepuff with the Quaffle," says a dreamy voice, echoing over the grounds. "He did the commentary last time, of course, and Ginny Weasley flew into him, I think probably on purpose, it looked like it. Smith was being quite rude about Gryffindor, I expect he regrets that now that he's playing them - oh, look, he's lost the Quaffle, Hazel Knight just took it from him, I do like her, she's very nice..."

I let out a laugh as I zoom down the pitch, shaking my head and grinning. Surely, nobody in their right mind would allow Luna Lovegood to commentate, but who else's voice could that be issuing across the pitch from the magical microphone? Still grinning, I aim to throw the Quaffle at Dean, who's wide open, but one of the Hufflepuff Chasers, Cadwallader, snatches it from me before I can.

"... but now that big Hufflepuff player's got the Quaffle from her, I can't remember his name, it's something like Bibble - no, Buggins - "

"It's Cadwallader!" McGonagall snaps from beside her, and one quick glance over at her tells me that McGonagall is seeming to have second thoughts about this appointment.

Moments later, Cadwallader scores, since McLaggen had been so busy yelling at me for being stupid enough to let the Quaffle out of my possession that he had failed to notice the large red ball soar past his right ear. Which I;m sure is something that could have happened to anyone.

"McLaggen, will you pay attention to what you're supposed to be doing and leave everyone else alone!" Harry yells, turning to face his Keeper.

"You're not setting a great example!" McLaggen retorts, red-faced and furious.

"And now Harry Potter's having an argument with his Keeper," Luna states, as Ginny takes possession of the Quaffle and zooms down the pitch, Dean flying below her and me flying above her. "I don't think that'll help him find the Snitch, but maybe it's a clever ruse..."

Ginny and I each score a goal, which gives Gryffindor supporters (and the Gryffindor team themselves) something to cheer and feel more hopeful about, but then Cadwallader scores again, making things level. Luna, however, doesn't comment on any of these things; she seems singularly uninterested in boring and mundane things such as the score, and instead keeps attempting to draw the crowd's attention to much more worthy things such as interestingly shaped clouds and the possibility that Zacharias Smith, who has so far failed to maintain possession of the Quaffle for longer than a minute, is suffering from Loser's Lurgy (I have absolutely no idea what Loser's Lurgy is supposed to be, but if it has anything to do with my desire to get revenge on Smith after what he had did to me during the last match against Hufflepuff, then Smith is suffering a very severe case of Loser's Lurgy indeed).

"Seventy-forty to Hufflepuff!" barks McGonagall into Luna's microphone.

"Is it, already? Oh, look! The Gryffindor Keeper's got hold of one of the Beater's bats," Luna says, just as Dean manages to score another goal.

I look round in midair to find that, sure enough, McLaggen, for reasons I'm sure are best known to himself, has taken Jimmy's bat from him and seems to be demonstrating how to hit a Bludger toward an oncoming Cadwallader. As Harry flies over and handles the situation, I catch the Quaffle, thrown to me by Dean, and try to control my anger at McLaggen, dodging a Bludger and passing it to Ginny, who's wide open.

"And it looks like the Gryffindor Seeker's just been knocked out - " Luna's voice begins, but she's drowned out by the sound of screams.

Bewildered, I look around to see Harry, seemingly unconscious, falling off his broom and to the ground, bleeding as he goes. I let out a slight gasp, then immediately go into a dive, wiling my room to go faster, faster, faster... finally, when he's a good ten feet from the ground, I manage to grab hold of him by the collar of his robes, pulling out of my dive. Very slowly, I drop down to the ground and put him down gently, just as McGonagall comes into view, running towards me.

"That will do, Miss Knight, thank you," she says, once she draws level with me. "I will take him to the hospital wing, now kindly return to the match."

You'd think that with a knocked-out Seeker the game would come to an end, but no, the game doesn't end until someone catches the Snitch, so the game is still going on and will go on until the Hufflepuff Seeker catches the Snitch and, inevitably (it occurs to me with my heart sinking to the region of my stomach) wins Hufflepuff the game.

I hesitate for a split second, nod, and kick off into the air again, glancing down to see McGonagall waving her hand causing Harry to life into the air. Of course, in the time that I had been distracted, Hufflepuff had managed to score three goals, bringing the score to one hundred-fifty to Hufflepuff. Letting out a small sigh, I zoom after Smith, who has the Quaffle, and make a mental note to kill McLaggen after this is over.

I take the Quaffle from Smith, turn around, and fly towards the goalposts. I dodge a Bludger, swerve around Wilkins, the other Hufflepuff Chaser, and pass the Quaffle to Ginny. She dodges around Cadwallader and throws the Quaffle to Dean, who flies towards the goalposts, makes to throw the Quaffle into the right hoop, then passes it to me at the last minute, and I throw it through the completely exposed left hoop.

We continue to try out best to keep playing, but in the absence of Harry, it's impossible to stay completely focused, especially in our anger at McLaggen. It takes the Hufflepuff Seeker a very long time to catch the Snitch, sealing Hufflepuff's victory with a score of three hundred and twenty to sixty, which I would've been more grateful for, had the time not been filled with more goals for Hufflepuff rather than us.

As we touch back to the ground, Ginny and I look to each other and shake our heads, walking back over to the changing rooms, shouldering our brooms over our shoulders. The rest of the team comes in as we begin changing, McLaggen coming in last.

"Well, that couldn't have been wor - " he begins, and then I snap; I'd managed to keep calm during the match, not wanting to make things worse than they already were, but now I can't take it.

"Are you  _insane_?" I demand furiously and loudly.

"Excuse me?" he says, looking offended.

"Are - you - insane?" I repeat, raising my voice. "What the  _hell_ did you think you were doing? You are the  _Keeper_ , it's  _not_ your job to go around yelling at everyone and acting like you can play every position better than the rest of us - which, by the way, you can't, because if you'd just left Jimmy alone, our Seeker wouldn't be  _knocked out and in the hospital wing,_ and maybe - just maybe! - we would've won this stupid match! So, for future reference, just leave everyone else alone and focus on what you're supposed to be doing! Are we clear?" I finish, but when he says nothing, I repeat in a dangerous voice, "Are we clear?"

For a moment, he doesn't say anything. He just stares at me angrily, red-faced and with a vein pulsing in his temple that reminds me of Harry's uncle, Vernon. For a second, I think he's going to hit me or jinx me or something, and I want him to do so, desperately wanting an excuse to hex him the way I've been longing to ever since he joined the team in Ron's place, but he doesn't.

Instead, he says, "Yes. Yeah, fine," and turns away.

Still seething, I turn back around and finish changing, and begin tapping my foot impatiently when I finish before Ginny does, waiting for her to finish. She notices, raises her eyebrows at me, then looks away, shaking her head and looking rather amused as she pulls on her normal robes.

"Don't be rude."

"Well, maybe if you'd just hurry the fuck up," I said pointedly.

"Don't take your anger out on me," she says, pulling on her shoes excruciatingly slowly.

"Don't tell me what to do," I retort. Then, notice that she's actually taking her time on purpose, add furiously, "And stop being slow just to piss me off!"

"It's so easy, though," she says, grinning, but pulls on her shoes quickly after that. She gets to her feet, brushing off her robes absently, and says, "Anyway, that was surprising to see. I'd forgotten that you're scary when you're mad."

"Isn't everyone a bit scary when they're mad?" I point out shortly, as we walk back out of the changing rooms onto the now mostly deserted pitch.

"Not everyone - definitely not everyone," she says, shaking her head. "This one bloke in my year is honestly a bit funny when he's mad. I pissed him off a while ago and he started shouting at me, and I knew I should've taken him seriously, but... I really just couldn't. Anyway, let's go see Harry in the hospital wing."

"He'll probably be unconscious, though," I point out, though I'm pleased, since I was going to suggest it if she didn't.

"So?" she says indifferently. "Worst comes to worst, we'll talk to Ron."

I just nod, so together we make our way over to the hospital wing.

"I think Gryffindor's been jinxed, though," I state gloomily. "We can't face Hufflepuff without one of us ending up in the hospital wing."

"Good point," Ginny says, smiling slightly. "Why did you stop Divination again?"

"Because it's a load of bollocks and I failed it, anyway, so I couldn't keep going even if I wanted to?"

"Ah," she says. " _That's_ why."

When we reach the hospital wing, we knock on the closed doors, and Madam Pomfrey comes to answer us moments later. We peer through the crack in the door to see Ron wide awake, craning his neck to look at us, and Harry on the bed beside him, apparently fast asleep, bandages wrapped all around his head like an odd sort of turban.

"We wanted to see Harry," I say, looking back round at Madam Pomfrey.

"He's unconscious," Madam Pomfrey states.

"That's alright," Ginny says brightly. "We can just talk to Ron in the meantime, can't we?"

"Besides, what if Harry wakes up the  _moment_ we leave?" I add, giving Madam Pomfrey a cheeky smile.

She looks between the two of us for a moment, looking stern, then says, "Oh, fine, I suppose it'll be no harm, I'm done healing him. Come in - but you can't stay long."

"Thanks, Madam," I say, as she opens the door for us to walk in, and Ginny and I walk over to the only two occupied beds in the hospital wing, pulling up chairs between the two beds.

"So," Ron prompts, "how was the match?"

We both give him dark looks.

"It was awful," Ginny replies. "Actually, awful is an understatement; it was appalling. It was horrendous, terrible, shitty, any negative term you can think of, and worse."

"We were _slaughtered_ ," I agree, sighing. "I can't believe I lost to Smith.  _Again_."

"I know," Ron says matter-of-factly. "I heard Luna commentating... which, by the way, was brilliant. She needs to do that permanently. 'Loser's Lurgy...'"

"Yeah, well, if anyone had Loser's Lurgy, it was McLaggen," Ginny says, though she's half-smiling.

"Speaking of which, Ron, at this point, if we manage to get back in this again, I don't care what state you're in, you  _are_ playing," I say sternly. "Because I'd rather bathe in undiluted Bubotuber pus than have to play in a match with McLaggen as Keeper again."

"I'll remember that," Ron says, looking thoroughly pleased at my comment. "Can't believe he hit Harry in the head with a Bludger, though. He was the  _Keeper._ What was he even doing with a Beater's bat?"

"We couldn't believe it, either, we're all really pissed about it," Ginny says grimly. "Hazel screamed bloody murder at him for it, it was really satisfying after everything he's done."

"Did you?" Ron says eagerly, looking at me with thinly veiled delight.

I just shrug, giving him a slightly sheepish smile.

"Well, someone had to do it, and our Captain was too busy being unconscious... speaking of unconscious, what did Madam Pomfrey say was wrong with him?"

"Cracked skull," Ron replies matter-of-factly. "Madam Pomfrey mended him in about a minute, but she reckons he'll have to stay for the weekend."

We all look over at Harry's sleeping form.

"Harry's going to want to kill McLaggen," states Ginny.

We spend the rest of the time talking to Ron, in which we also tell him about how Harry was almost late for the match, before Madam Pomfrey comes to kick Ginny and I out, insisting that we've stayed long enough and that  _both_ of her patients need to be left well alone so that they can rest, so we bid Ron goodbye and say we'll visit him later - preferably when Harry's conscious again.

 

***

 

The rest of the day passes by as normally as it can after a humiliating defeat against Hufflepuff, and Hermione and I are just at the door of the girls' dormitories to go to bed, when Ginny storms into the common room, walks quickly and furiously across the room, until she draws level with Hermione and I.

Hermione and I exchange uncertain looks, before Hermione says, "Erm - something wrong, Ginny?"

"Yes," she says shortly. "Dean. We've had a row."

"About what?"

"He reckons it was something funny, that McLaggen knocked Harry out," she says, fuming. "So I told him to shut up, and he told me I was overreacting and taking it too seriously, and then, well... you can imagine what came next," she finishes, giving us meaningful looks. Hermione and I nod, because we can imagine exactly how that conversation would have played out, even without Ginny's furious expression as an indication. "Anyway, if I think about it - or  _him_ , for that matter - for another minute, I'll explode, so let's talk about something else... anything else."

So, Hermione and I lead Ginny over to our dormitory, which is empty, since Lavender and Parvati are in the common room still. I immediately flop onto my bed, spreading out and sighing contentedly, while Hermione sits down on her own bed, and Ginny curls up on the foot of Hermione's bed.

"Have I ever mentioned how much I love this bed?" I say, turning my head to look at them.

"It's not any different than the rest of the beds here," Hermione points out. "What makes that one so special?"

"It's  _mine_ , that's what," I reply, as though this should be obvious.

Hermione rolls her eyes, and Ginny grins. With that, we talk and joke around, for what I feel could have been hours or minutes - until I look at the clock and see that, yes, it's only been minutes. Which would make sense, since Lavender and Parvati haven't come up yet.

After a while, Ginny sits up, looks at me, and says, "I've got a question for you."

"Ask away."

"Who do you reckon the fittest bloke in the school is?"

I prop myself up on my elbows, giving her a weird look and saying, "Why are you so eager to know, all of a sudden?"

"I purposely waited until Fred was out of school, that way you couldn't say anything gross like Fred, because my stomach can't handle you fawning over how hot my brother is," she replies matter-of-factly. "I have to deal with it enough as it is."

"Hey!" I protest, sitting up straight and frowning. "Since when do I fawn over how hot he is to you guys? I keep those thoughts nice and private."

"Aha! So you do have thoughts!" she says dramatically, pointing at me as though she's made some grand discovery.

"Well, yeah," I say, embarrassed but trying to sound unabashed. "Is that not obvious? In any case, he's my boyfriend, I'm allowed to have all the thoughts I want, thank you very much."

"Give me a break," Ginny says, pretending to throw up onto Hermione's bed.

"You started it!" I protest. "But  _moving on_ , I think the fittest bloke in the school would be... Logan Price. You know, that seventh year in Hufflepuff? He's always been nice to look at."

"Yeah, he is handsome," Hermione agrees, nodding.

"Is that who you'd say, then, Hermione?" Ginny asks.

"Well, he's very good-looking and all, but I don't think so," Hermione muses. "I think that - "

"If you say Ron, I swear to Merlin..." Ginny mutters.

I start laughing, while Hermione blushes.

"Well, in  _that_ case," she says with a small smirk, "Luke Rodriguez is really handsome..."

"Yeah, he is pretty good-looking, even with that huge scar on his face," Ginny agrees, nodding.

"Especially with the scar, you mean," I correct, grinning, and lying down on my stomach, cupping my chin in my hand.

"Touché," Ginny says, laughing and lying back down.

"How did he even get that scar, anyway?" Hermione wonders aloud, looking thoughtful.

"The official story is that he got in a really big duel and ended up on the worst side of it," Ginny replies. "But his sister's in my year and she told me that they actually have a really big cat and it didn't used to like him, and one day he really pissed it off, so it just kind of - "

Ginny sticks her hand straight up and mimes scratching. Hermione presses her lips into a tight line, and I bring a hand to my mouth, the both of us trying to stop ourselves from laughing.

"Are you being serious?" I demand. When Ginny nods, I add, "Well... that's a lot less heroic than being in some big huge duel..."

"It makes sense, though," Hermione points out. "I always thought it didn't look like the kind of scar you'd get from a duel... anyway, I suppose not all scars can be heroic."

"Yeah," Ginny agrees. "Sometimes they're just a literal mark of stupidity. Or just how bloody hateful some cats can be."

"Speaking of which, Hermione, I wonder if we could ever get Crookshanks to do that to someone..." I say thoughtfully. I call Crookshanks over, and when he leaps onto my bed, I scratch behind its ears and say in a fond whisper, "Could you scratch Professor Snape's eyes out? Could you do that for me, Crookshanks?"

"Hazel!" Hermione reprimands, while Ginny bursts out laughing. "Crookshanks is not going to scratch Snape's eyes out!"

"Why not?" I demand. "D'you know how many problems that would solve? It'd practically bring world peace!"

"Crookshanks is not a weapon for you to use!" Hermione says. "Besides, Snape is a teacher, he'd probably have Crookshanks killed!"

"Fair enough," I say, grinning, then turn to Crookshanks and say, "Never mind, then, I wouldn't want you to die over a stupid git like Snape..."

"Well, now that that's decided," Ginny says. "Enough about boys. What good have they ever done for anyone, anyway?"

And agreeing whole heartedly with her, Hermione and I lapse into conversations about other topics with her, talking and laughing amiably until Lavender and Parvati finally come in, demanding that they need their sleep and won't be able to get it if we keep 'shouting,' as they seem to think it was (well, mostly Parvati does that. Lavender and Hermione haven't been on the best of terms since the former started dating Ron, so the atmosphere in the dormitory is usually very tense and awkward, and the two don't really speak that much whenever they're around each other), so Ginny gets up, thanks us for cheering her up, and heads out of our dormitory to go to her own.

I get to my feet, stretching and yawning, just now realising how tired I am. In all fairness, it's been a pretty long day, what with that humiliating defeat earlier before and everything. I change quickly, before announcing a vague goodnight to everyone, jumping into bed, and closing the curtains of my four-poster around me, sinking into bed.

I should have been able to fall asleep immediately, but I couldn't. For the life of me, no matter how many times I turned over, no matter how many times I counted sheep (and how many sheep I counted, for that matter), no matter how many times I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to force sleep to take over my body, I couldn't do it. Letting out a frustrated sigh and taking a moment to at least be grateful that tomorrow's Sunday and that I won't have to worry about being up too early, I turn over so that I'm laying on my back, staring up at the scarlet canvas of my four-poster.

"You should be asleep," I mutter.

 _But you're not going to sleep, so shut up and accept it,_ I think.  _And stop talking to yourself._

Groaning, I flip over on my stomach and bury my head into the pillow, squeezing my eyes tightly shut until colours bright and dark burst behind my eyelids, but my body still isn't anymore inclined to succumb to sleep. I stay in this position for a while longer, until I flip over onto my back once more to breathe, inhaling and exhaling deeply.

Eventually, I decide that I'm not going to fall asleep anytime soon, so I might as well make the most out of my consciousness, so I get out of bed, walk over to my trunk, and pull out a book. By wandlight, I try to read as best as I can, but I can't focus on what I'm reading, all it is is words on the pages, words that I can't take in, so eventually I throw the book aside, muttering, " _Nox!_ " and trying to decide what to do now.

 _Well, I suppose my mind is my only source of entertainment now;_ I think, lying back down again.  _This should be fun._

Playing with my hands and trying to ignore the feeling of restlessness now stirring inside me, I start thinking about loads of things, like how all my homework is starting to pile up again and how it won't be too long until I end up having to stay up late into the night to complete it again, the likelihood of Gryffindor making it to the Quidditch Cup, how much I want to kill McLaggen and Smith both, how I should've yelled at the former a lot more than I did, the war raging on and getting worse all the while, and, admittedly, well... Fred.

Then and there, I decide it's almost indecent, the amount of times I think about him. I almost resent him for being so wonderful and making me like him so much that he occupies my mind this much.

 _Yeah_ , I think with a small smile,  _this is clearly all his fault. Him and his stupid hair and his stupid smile and his stupid laugh and his stupid sense of humour and his stupid bravery and his stupid kindness and his stupid charming, bold personality and his stupid, stupid everything. What a git._

Rolling over onto my stomach again to stop myself from laughing at the thought of how Fred would react if he could read my mind right now, I wonder how it's possible that the mere thought of Fred can make me go from frustrated and restless to giggly and happy. I decide to resign myself to think that this somewhat sleepless night is going to be spent thinking about Fred quite a bit, and allow myself to get lost in thought about him - which proves to be very, very easy.

From head to toe and all that lays in between, he's everything I could've ever wanted in a boyfriend, even back when I was seven and insisting to Harry that relationships don't even seem to be all that great and that  _I_ for one won't ever be bothered with all that rubbish, since I couldn't stand any boy except for Harry and Danny Miller, anyway, and I didn't want them t be my boyfriend or my husband or anything like that. I make a mental note to tell him just how much I like him the next time I can, because I don't think he realised just how much I like him, and someone who makes me feel the way Fred does, someone who has the effect on me that he does - well, they really ought to know.


	18. Gurdyroots

**Distance Means Nothing**

**Chapter Eighteen: Gurdyroots**

 

Harry and Ron leave the hospital wing first thing Monday morning, restored to full health by Madam Pomfrey and now able to enjoy the benefits of being poisoned and knocked out, the best of which is that Hermione and Ron are speaking again. She even comes with us to breakfast, and the two of us deliver news of Ginny and Dean fighting to Harry and Ron.

"What did they row about?" Harry asks in a would-be offhand voice, as we turn onto the seventh floor corridor that's deserted except for a very small girl examining a tapestry of trolls in tutus. She looks terrified at the sight of us approaching and drops the heavy brass scales she's carrying.

"It's alright!" Hermione says kindly, hurrying forward to help her. "Here..." she taps the broken scales with her wand and says, " _Reparo!_ "

The girl does not thank her, but remains rooted to the spot as we pass and watches us out of sight. Ron glances back at her.

"I swear they're getting smaller."

"Never mind her," Harry says, a little impatiently. "What did Ginny and Dean row about?"

"Oh, Dean was laughing about McLaggen hitting that Bludger at you," I reply matter-of-factly.

"Well, it must have looked funny," Ron says reasonably.

"It didn't look funny at all!" Hermione says hotly. "It looked terrible and if Hazel hadn't caught Harry, he would've been really badly hurt!"

"Yeah, well, there's still no need for Ginny and Dean to split up about it," Harry says, in a tone of force-casualness. "Or are they still together?"

"Yes, they're still together - but why are you so interested?" Hermione asks, giving Harry a sharp look.

"I just don't want my Quidditch team messed up again!" Harry says hastily, but Hermione continues to look suspicious.

Before she can press the matter, however, a voice behind us calls, "Harry!"

The four of us turn around.

"Oh, hi, Luna."

"I went to the hospital wing to find you," she states, rummaging through her bag, "but they'd said you'd already left..."

She thrusts what appears to be a green onion, a large spotted toadstool, and a considerable amount of what seems to be cat litter into Ron's hands, before finally pulling out a grubby scroll of parchment that she hands over to Harry.

"... I've been told to give you this."

As he unrolls it, I recognise the writing as Dumbledore's and realise that this will be another invitation for one of Harry and Dumbledore's lessons.

"Tonight,"  Harry tells Ron, Hermione, and I.

"Nice commentary last match!" Ron tells Luna as she takes back the toadstool and the cat litter from him.

Luna smiles vaguely at him, then says, "You're making fun of me, aren't you? Everyone says I was dreadful."

"No, I'm serious!" he says earnestly. "I can't remember enjoying commentary more! What is this, by the way?" Ron adds, holding up the onionlike object at eye level.

"Oh, it's a Gurdyroot," Luna replies, stuffing the cat litter and toadstool back in her bag. "You can keep it if you like, I've got a few of them. They're really excellent for warding off Gulping Plimpies."

And she walks away, leaving Ron chortling and still clutching the Gurdyroot.

"You know, she's grown on me, Luna," he says, as we set off again for the Great Hall. "I know she's insane, but it's in a good - "

He stops very suddenly. Lavender Brown is standing at the foot of the marble staircase, looking close to murderous.

"... and that's our cue to leave, I think," I mutter to Harry and Hermione, and we speed past, but not before we hear Lavender say, "Why didn't you tell me you were getting out today? And why was she with you?"

Ron looks both sulky and annoyed when he appears at breakfast half an hour later, and though he sits with Lavender, I don't see them speak a word to each other the entire time. Harry takes notice, but Hermione acts oblivious, though once or twice I see an inexplicable smirk on her face. All day she seems to be in a particularly good mood, and she even agrees to look over (in other words, finish) Harry's Herbology essay, something she's been refusing to do for ages, because she knows Harry would let Ron copy afterwards.

"Thanks a lot, Hermione," Harry says, giving her a hasty pat on the back as she checks his watch. "Listen, I've got to hurry, or I'll be late for Dumbledore.."

I nod, while Hermione simply crosses out a few sentences in a weary sort of way. Grinning, Harry hurries out of the portrait hole. I watch her as she words for a while, noticing the odd look of triumph on her face.

"You look rather satisfied for someone doing somebody else's homework." I state. She shrugs. "I do wonder what's got you in this mood... but, anyway, onto what I'm sure are  _completely_ unrelated matters, where's Ron?"

Hermione looks up from Harry's essay long enough to give me an exasperated, threatening sort of look, but it's ruined entirely by the fact that it's obvious she's trying to fight back a smile.

"With Lav-Lav," she replies after she finishes her half-hearted attempt to intimidate me, the triumphant look back on her face as she returns to Harry's essay. "Arguing, by the looks of it."

"About what?" I ask, though I can already imagine exactly what they could be arguing about.

"I don't know, something about him being around  _her_ too often, and that he ought to remember that Lavender's his girlfriend and not this  _her_. I wasn't listening too carefully, really."

I look at her for a moment; then I start laughing, shaking my head at her.

 _She's so full of shit,_ I think, but say out loud, after I've finished laughing. "How strange. And who on earth could this  _her_ be?"

"I guess we'll never know," Hermione answers, now grinning broadly.

"I guess so," I agree, and the both of us are grinning, and we set to work again, talking easily while we work.

 

***

 

As Harry hadn't managed to retrieve the memory from Slughorn in time for his lesson with Dumbledore, the next week he tries to come up with ideas on how to get it out of him. When he draws a blank, he starts spending more time flipping through his copy of  _Advanced Potion-Making,_ as though the solution lies between the pages of the textbook.

"You won't find anything in there," Hermione says firmly, late on Sunday evening.

"Don't start, Hermione," Harry says. "If it wasn't for the Prince, Ron wouldn't be sitting here right now."

"He would be if you just listened to Snape in first year," Hermione says dismissively.

"Maybe, but we've all got better things to do with our time than listen to Snape in class," I say matter-of-factly, not looking up from my essay. Ron starts to laugh, but then turns it into a cough at the look Hermione gives me, then him.

We're sitting beside the fire in the common room; the only other people awake are fellow sixth years. There had been a certain amount of excitement when we had found a new sign on the notice board, announcing the date of the first Apparition test. Those are or wil be seventeen by the day of the test, the twenty-first of April, have the option to sign up for additional practice sessions, which will take place (heavily supervised) in Hogsmeade.

Ron panics upon reading this notice; he still hasn't managed to Apparate and fears that he won't be ready to take the test. Hermione, who has now Apparated twice, is feeling a little more confident, but since my birthday is in May, I can't take the rest whether I'm ready or not (though I am decent at Apparition. I was the fist out of the sixth years t manage it, though the level of this triumph is diminished somewhat by the fact that I had been so surprised that I managed it, that I'd lost my balance and fallen over with a yelp), nor can Harry, whose birthday is in July.

"At least you two can Apparate, though," Ron says tensely. "You'll have no problem when you take it!"

Having wasted a great deal of time worrying about Apparition, he is now struggling to complete a very difficult essay for Snape that Harry, Hermione, and I have already finished.

"I'm telling you, the stupid Prince isn't going to be able to help you with this, Harry!" Hermione says, more loudly, when Harry continues to look through the textbook. "There's only one way to force somebody to do what you want, and that's the Imperius Curse, which is illegal - "

"It's not the only way," I say matter-of-factly, flicking through a page of the Quidditch book absently. When the three of them give me odd looks, I shrug and say, "Well, it's  _not_."

"Besides, I already knew that, thanks," Harry adds. "That's why I'm looking for something different. Dumbledore says Veritaserum won't do it, but there might be something else, a potion or a spell..."

"You're going about it the wrong way," Hermione insists. "Only you can get the memory, Dumbledore says. That means you can persuade Slughorn where other people can't. It's not a question of slipping him a potion, anyone can do that - "

"How do you spell 'belligerent'?" Ron interrupts, shaking his quill very hard while staring at his parchment. "It can't be B-U-M - "

"No, it isn't," Hermione agrees, looking over at Ron's essay. "And 'augury' doesn't begin with O-R-G, either. What kind of quill are you using?"

"One of Fred and George's Spell-Check ones, but I think the charm must be wearing off."

"Yes, it must be," Hermione says, pointing at the title of his essay, "because we're asked how to deal with Dementors, not 'Dug-bogs,' and I don't remember you changing your name to 'Roonil Wazlib,' either."

I manage to stifle my laughter for Ron's sake, because he says, staring horror-struck at his parchment, "Ah, no! Don't tell me I have to write out the whole thing again!"

"It's okay, we can fix it," Hermione assures him, pulling his essay toward her and taking out her wand.

"I love you, Hermione," Ron declares, sinking back into his chair and rubbing his eyes wearily.

Hermione turns faintly pink, but merely says, "Don't let Lavender hear you say that."

"I won't," Ron stares into his hands. "Or maybe I will, then she'll ditch me."

"Why don't you just ditch her, if you want to finish it?" Harry asks.

"You've never chucked anyone, have you?" Ron says. "You and Cho just - "

"Sort of fell apart, yeah," Harry finishes for him, nodding.

"Wish that'd happen with me and Lavender," Ron says gloomily, watching as Hermione taps each of the misspelled words with her wand, so that they correct themselves on the page. "But the more I want to finish it, the tighter she holds on. It's like going out with the giant squid."

"That's an interesting comparison," I say vaguely. "The best thing you can do is be honest with her. But let her down easy, alright, you would've want to hurt her, would you, Roonil?"

"Easier said than done," Ron grumbles. "And 'Roonil Wazlib' does not leave this room, got it?"

"We'll see about that," I reply, turning another page.

Some twenty minutes later, Hermione hands back Ron's essay and says, "There."

"Thanks a million," Ron says gratefully. "Can I borrow your quill for a conclusion?"

I look up from my book momentarily to see that we're the only ones left in the common room, Seamus having just disappeared through the door of the boys' dormitories, cursing both Snape and his stupid essays. The only sounds left in the common room are the crackling fire and Ron writing down one last paragraph on Dementors using Hermione's quill. I'm just deciding to stop reading for today, when - 

_Crack!_

Hermione lets out a little shriek; Ron spills ink all over his essay with a yelp; I let out a gasp and drop my book; and Harry cries, "Kreacher!"

The house-elf bows low and addresses his gnarled toes, saying, "Master said he wanted regular reports on what the Malfoy boy is doing, so Kreacher has come to give - "

_Crack!_

Dobby appears alongside Kreacher, his tea-cosy hat askew, and squeaks, casting Kreacher a resentful look, "Dobby has been helping, too, Harry Potter! And Kreacher ought to tell Dobby when he is coming to see Harry Potter so that they can make reports together!"

"What - what is this?" I ask, looking from the two house-elves to Harry, still not entirely grasping what's happening. "What's going on, Harry?"

"Well... they've been following Malfoy for me," Harry replies, after a moment of hesitation.

"Night and day," Kreacher croaks.

"Dobby has not slept in a week, Harry Potter!" Dobby announces proudly, swaying on the spot; Hermione, however, looks indignant.

"You haven't slept, Dobby? But, Harry, surely you didn't - "

"No, of course I didn't," Harry says quickly. "Dobby, you can sleep, alright? But have either of you found anything?"

"Master Malfoy moves with a nobility that befits his pure blood," Kreacher replies immediately. "His features recall the fine bones of my mistress and his manners are those of - "

"Draco Malfoy is a bad boy!" Dobby squeaks angrily. "A bad boy who - who - "

He shudders from the tassel of his tea-cosy to the toes of the socks and then runs at the fire, as though to dive into it. Harry, however, looking unsurprised, catches him around the middle and holds him tightly. For a few seconds, Dobby struggles against him, then goes limp.

"Thank you, Harry Potter. Dobby still finds it difficult to speak ill of his old masters," he pants, and Harry releases Dobby, who turns to Kreacher and defiantly says, "But Kreacher should know that Draco Malfoy is not a good master to house-elves!"

"Yeah, we don't need to know about you being in love with Malfoy," Harry adds to Kreacher. "Let's fast forward to where he's actually been going."

Kreacher bows, looking furious, then says, "Master Malfoy eats in the Great Hall, sleeps in a dormitory in the dungeons, he attends classes in a variety - "

"Dobby, you tell me," Harry says, cutting across Kreacher. "Has he been going anywhere he shouldn't have?"

"Harry Potter, sir," Dobby squeaks, his great eyes shining in the firelight, "the Malfoy boy is breaking no rules that Dobby can discover, but he is still keen to avoid detention. He has been making regular visits to the seventh floor with a variety of other students, who keep watch for him while he enters - "

A variety of other students? Who would be keeping watch for him? Obviously, there's always Crabbe and Goyle, but who else? I suppose there could be Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson, and perhaps they could get other people, but how many people would Malfoy actually trust with whatever it is he's doing?

"The Room of Requirement!" Harry bursts out, smacking himself hard on the head with his copy of Advanced Potion-Making. "That's where he's been sneaking off to! That's where he's been doing... whatever it is he's doing! And I bet that's why he keeps disappearing off the map - come to think of it, I've never seen the Room of Requirement on there!"

"Maybe the Marauders never knew the room was there," Ron suggests.

"Or it might be part of the magic of the room, making it Unplottable," I add.

"Dobby, have you managed to get in to have a look at what Malfoy's doing?" Harry asks eagerly.

"No, Harry Potter, that is impossible."

"No, it's not," Harry says at once. "Malfoy got into our headquarters last year, so I'll be able to get in and spy on him, no problem."

"But I don't think you will, Harry," Hermione says slowly. "Malfoy already knew exactly how we were using the room, didn't he, because that stupid Marietta blabbed. He needed the room to become the headquarters for the D.A., so it did. But you don't know what room it becomes when Malfoy uses it, so you don't know what to ask it to transform into."

"There'll be a way around that," Harry says disissively. "You've done brilliantly, Dobby."

"Kreacher's done well, too," Hermione adds kindly, but Kreacher, far from being grateful, averts his huge, bloodshot eyes and croaks at the ceiling, "The Mudblood is speaking to Kreacher, Kreacher will pretend he cannot hear - "

"Get out of it!" Harry snaps at him, and Kreacher sinks into one last bow, before Disapparating. "You'd better go and get some sleep, too, Dobby."

"Thank you, Harry Potter, sir!" squeaks Dobby, and he too vanishes.

"How good is this?" Harry says enthusiastically, now that the common room is once again free of house-elves. "We know where Malfoy's going! We've got him cornered now!"

"Yeah, it's great," Ron says gloomily, trying to mop up the sodden mass of ink that had spilled all over his almost-completed essay; Hermione pulls it toward her and starts siphoning the ink off with her wand.

"But what's all this about him going up there with a variety of students?" Hermione wonders aloud. "How many people are in on it? You wouldn't think he'd trust lots of people to know what he's doing."

"Yeah, that's weird," Harry agrees, frowning. "I heard him telling Crabbe it wasn't Crabbe's business to know what he's doing, so what's he telling all these... all these..." Harry's voice tails away as he stares into the fire. Then he quietly says, "God, I've been so stupid. It's obvious, isn't it?"  _No, it's not,_ I think. "There was a great vat of it down in the dungeon... he could've nicked some any time during that lesson..."

"Nicked what?" asks Ron.

"Polyjuice Potion. He stole some of the Polyjuice Potion Slughorn showed us during our first Potions lesson. There aren't a whole variety of students standing guard for Malfoy... it's just Crabbe and Goyle as usual... yeah, it all fits!" Harry says, leaping to his feet and pacing up and down in front of the fire. "They're stupid enough to do what they're told even if he won't tell them what he's up to, but he doesn't want them to be seen lurking around the Room of Requirement all the time, so he's got them taking Polyjuice Potion to look like other people. Those two girls I saw him with on the day of the Quidditch match - ha, Crabbe and Goyle!"

"Do you mean to tell me," Hermione says in a hushed voice, "that little girl whose scales I repaired - ?"

"Yeah, of course!" Harry says loudly, staring at her. "Of course! Malfoy must have been inside the room at the time, so she - what am I saying? - he dropped the scales to tell Malfoy not to come out, because someone was there! And there was the girl who dropped the toadspawn, too! We've been walking past them all the time and not realising it!"

"He's got Crabbe and Goyle transforming into girls?" Ron says. "Blimey... no wonder they don't look too happy these days. I'm surprised they aren't telling him to stuff it."

"Well, they wouldn't, would they, after he showed them his Dark Mark," Harry points out.

"Hmm... the Dark Mark we don't actually know exists," Hermione concedes, rolling up Ron's dried essay and handing it to him before it can come to anymore harm.

"We'll see," Harry says confidently.

"Yes, we will," Hermione agrees, getting to her feet and stretching. "But, Harry, before you get all excited - "  _Too late,_ I think - "I still don't think you'll be able to get into the Room of Requirement without know what's there first. And I don't think you should forget - " she heaves her bag over her shoulder and gives him a very serious look - "that you're supposed to be concentrating on getting that memory from Slughorn. Goodnight.

Once the door to the girls' dormitories closes behind her, Harry rounds on Ron and I and asks, "What do you two think?"

"Wish I could Apparate like a house-elf," Ron states, staring at the spot where Dobby had vanished. "I'd have that Apparition test in the bag." I, however, stare at Harry with a slightly tilted head and narrowed eyes, just now realising something for the first time.

"What?" he demands, upon noticing me.

"Nothing," I say, bending down to pick up the book I had forgotten about until now, flipping through the pages to find the one I had been on last, and marking it carefully, before looking back at him, "it's just - is this what people are talking about when they say we meddle too much?"

The next morning at breakfast, it becomes very apparent to me that Harry's mind is still preoccupied with thoughts of Malfoy, what he's doing in the Room of Requirement, and how to get inside the room to find out. During breakfast, he tells us about his plans of using his free period before Defence Against the Dark Arts to get inside the Room of Requirement. Hermione acts resolutely uninterested in this, something that seems to irritate Harry.

"Look," he says quietly, leaning forward and putting a hand on the  _Daily Prophet_ , which she had just removed from a post owl, to stop her from opening it and vanishing behind it, "I haven't forgotten about Slughorn, but I haven't a clue on how to get the memory off him, and until I get a brain wave, why shouldn't I find out what Malfoy's doing?"

"I've already told you, you need to persuade Slughorn," Hermione replies. "It's not a matter of tricking or bewitching him, otherwise Dumbledore could've done it in a second. Instead of messing around in the Room of Requirement - " she jerks the  _Daily Prophet_ out from under Harry's hand and unfolds it to look at the front page - "you should go find Slughorn and start appealing to his better nature."

"Anyone we know - ?" Ron begins, as Hermione starts scanning the headlines.

"Yes!" Hermione exclaims, causing Harry, Ron, and I to gag on our breakfast. "But it's alright, he's not dead - it's Mundungus, he's been arrested and sent to Azkaban! Something to do with impersonating an Inferius during an attempted burglary, and someone called Octavious Pepper has vanished. Oh, and how horrible, a nine year-old boy has been arrested for trying to kill his grandparents, they think he was under the Imperius Curse."

The rest of breakfast passes by in silence.

Afterwards, Hermione and I set off immediately for Ancient Runes; Ron returns to the common room, as he still needs to finish that conclusion for Snape's essay; and Harry heads for the Room of Requirement, ignoring Hermione's stern warnings that he should be focusing on getting that memory from Slughorn.

One difficult Ancient Runes class that ends with that I personally believe to be more homework than altogether necessary later, we head over to Defence Against the Dark Arts, joining the queue waiting outside the door. Ron comes hurrying a few moments later.

"God, I hate Snape for that essay," he grumbles as greeting, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his robes.

"Just for that essay?" is all I say, raising my eyebrows.

"Well, we don't have the time for me to list all the reasons why I hate Snape, do we?" he says.

"Keep your voices down," Hermione warns us. "He might hear."

"I doubt it," Ron says, rolling his eyes.

"I don't," I say matter-of-factly. "I'm sure he's got extra ears to make sure he hears any insult directed at him by a student. All the better for handing out detentions and taking away house points."

While Ron laughs, Hermione rolls her eyes but grins, then says, "Where's Harry?"

"Dunno, he never came to the common room," Ron replies, shrugging.

"He'll still be lurking by the Room of Requirement, trying to get in," I say, lowering my voice, since Malfoy isn't too far off. "Unless he has managed to get in, in which case I don't think we'll be seeing him for a long time.

Regardless, moments after Snape opens the door and allows us in the classroom with a curt, "Enter," as people are still finding their seats and taking out their books and organising their things, Harry comes hurrying into the candlelit classroom.

"Late again, Potter," Snape says coldly. "Ten points from Gryffindor."

I roll my eyes as I settle into the seat beside Hermione, while Harry flings himself into the seat between her and Ron, scowling; Harry had not been much more late than anyone else here.

"Before we start, I want your Dementor essays," Snape begins, waving his wand carelessly, so that twenty-six scrolls of parchment soar into the air and land in a neat pile on his desk. "And I hope for your sakes they are better than the tripe that I had to endure on resisting the Imperius Curse. Now, if you will all open your books to page - what is it, Mr. Finnigan?"

"Sir," Seamus says, "I've been wondering, how do you tell the difference between an Inferius and a ghost? Because there was something in the paper about an Inferius - "

"No, there wasn't," Snape says boredly.

"But, sir, I heard people saying - "

"If you had actually read the article in question, Mr. Finnigan, you would have known that the so-called Inferius was nothing but a smelly sneak thief by the name of Mundungus Fletcher."

"I thought Snape and Mundungus were on the same side?" Harry mutters to Ron, Hermione, and I. "Shouldn't he be upset that Mundungus has been arrest - ?"

 _Yeah, well, Sirius and Snape were on the same side, and I doubt Snape wept when he died,_ I think, but decide against saying it out loud.

"But Potter seems to have a lot to say on the subject," Snape says, pointing to the back of the room, his black eyes fixed on Harry. "Let us ask Potter how we would tell the difference between an Inferius and a ghost." The whole class turns to Harry, who hesitantly says, "Er - well - ghosts are transparent - "

"Oh, very good," Snape interrupts, his lip curling. "Yes, it's easy to see that six years of magical education have not been wasted on you. 'Ghosts are transparent.'"

Pansy Parkinson lets out a high-pitched giggle. Several other people are smirking. I glare at Snape, biting my tongue to stop myself from saying anything rash.

Harry takes a deep breath and calmly says, "Yeah, ghosts are transparent, but Inferi are dead bodies, aren't they? So they'd be solid - "

"A five year-old could have told us as much," sneers Snape. "The Inferius is a corpse that has been reanimated by a Dark wizard's spell. It is not alive, it's merely a puppet used to do the wizard's bidding. A ghost, as I trust you are all aware by now, is the imprint of a departed soul left on the earth, and of course, as Potter so wisely told us, transparent."

"Well, what Harry told us is more useful if we want to tell them apart!" Ron interjects. "When we come face-to-face with one in a dark alley, we're going to have a look at it to see if it's solid, aren't we, we're not going to be asking 'Excuse me, are you the imprint of a departed soul?'"

There's a ripple of laughter, instantly quelled by the look Snape gives the class.

"Another ten points from Gryffindor," Snape says. "I would expect nothing more sophisticated from you, Ronald Weasley, the boy so solid he cannot Apparate half an inch across a room."

"No!" Hermione whispers, grabbing Harry's arm as he opens his mouth furiously. "There's no point, you'll just end up in detention!"

"Now open your books to page two hundred and thirteen," Snape continues, now smirking a little, "and read the first two paragraphs on the Cruciatus Curse."

Ron is very subdued throughout the whole class. When the bell rings at the end of the lesson, Lavender hurries to catch up, so that Hermione mysteriously melts out of sight, and I follow after her (I've become very good at keeping an eye out for Hermione and knowing where she is whenever Lavender shows up).

"I still don't get why he won't just break up with her," Hermione insists. "I mean, he's said over and over he wants to end it. She must've noticed  _something_ different."

"I suppose she really likes him and doesn't want to let go," I reply, shrugging. "And old Roonil is a bit clueless sometimes, but he'll figure it out. He'll have to, won't he?"

Hermione nods in agreement, murmuring, "I suppose so."

After that, Hermione changes the subject, determinedly avoiding talking about Ron and Lavender, and for her sake, I follow suit.

 

***

 

The following weekend, Ron and Hermione join all the other sixth years who will be seventeen in time to take the Apparition test in a fortnight. I can't help but feel rather jealous as I watch them all get ready to go into the village; I miss taking trips there, and it's the perfect kind of day for it, unlike the day of our first and only official Hogsmeade date this year had been; it's a fine spring day, one of the first clear skies we've seen in quite a long time, carrying a much welcomed promise of Spring.

When Harry confides in Ron, Hermione, and I that he plans on trying to get into the Room of Requirement again, Hermione says, "You'd do better to go straight to Slughorn's office and try to get that memory from him."

"I've been trying!" Harry says crossly. "He doesn't want to talk to me, Hermione! He can tell I've been trying to get him on his own again, and he's not going to let it happen!"

"Well, you've just got to keep at it, haven't you?"

The short queue of people waiting to file past Filch, who is doing his usual prodding act with his Secrecy Sensor, moves forward a few steps, and Harry doesn't answer in case the caretaker hears. We wish Ron and Hermione good luck, then climb back up the marble staircase.

Once out of sight of the Entrance Hall, Harry pulls out the Marauder's Map and his Invisibility Cloak from his bag, throws the latter over him, but holds it out to let me in, turning to me expectantly.

"Well?" he says. "Are you coming or not?"

"Hermione's right, you know. You should be trying to get that memory from Slughorn," I say in reply, folding my arms and looking at him sternly.

"You didn't answer my question."

I continue to look at him sternly, and he continues to stare at me expectantly, impatience starting to settle into his expression, until I finally let out a sigh and say, "Oh,  _fine,_ then," and duck under the cloak beside him.

Harry, grinning triumphantly, taps the Marauder's Map with his wand and murmurs, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," and the two of us scan it carefully.

As it's Sunday morning, nearly all the students are inside their various common rooms; Gryffindors in one tower, Ravenclaws in another, the Slytherins in the dungeons, and the Hufflepuffs in the basement near the kitchens. There are a few people on the grounds, and there, in the seventh floor corridor, is Gregory Goyle. The Room of Requirement isn't there, but if Goyle is there, so is the Room of Requirement, and in extension, Malfoy.

Harry sprints up the stairs, leaving me no choice but to sprint to keep up with him, and doesn't slow down until we turn the corner into the corridor, where we begin to creep, very slowly, toward the very same little girl, holding the very same heavy brass scales, who Hermione had helped a fortnight before.

We wait until we're right behind her, then Harry bends very low and whispers, "Hello... you're very pretty, aren't you?"

Goyle gives a high-pitched scream of terror, throws the scales away, and sprints away, vanishing from sight long before the sound of the scales smashing had stopped echoing around the corridor. Laughing, we turn to contemplate the blank wall behind which Malfoy must be standing frozen, aware that unwelcome person or people are out there, but not daring to make an appearance.

Requesting to see what Malfoy is up to proves to be very difficult. Half an hour later, we've used many variations of the request, but the wall remains as door-less as ever. It becomes slightly frustrating after a while, knowing that Malfoy stands right on the other side of the wall, and there's still not the tiniest shred of evidence as to what he's doing. All that's stopping us from knowing is a door (or the lack thereof). Losing his patience completely, Harry runs at the wall and kicks it.

"OUCH!"

He clutches his toe and hops on one foot, so that the Invisibility Cloak slips fully off of him and half off of me. Rolling my eyes, I pull the cloak fully off me and watch as he hops around, clutching his foot, my hands on my hips.

"I don't know why you thought that would work," I tell him, shaking my head.

"I was letting off steam, alright, Hazel?" Harry says defensively, glaring at me.

"Harry? Hazel?"

We spin around, Harry still one-legged, and he falls over. I look down at him on the ground momentarily, thinking about how refreshing it is for it not to be me on the ground for once, before looking up and seeing, to my utter astonishment, Tonks walking towards us, as though she frequently strolls up this corridor.

"Tonks? What're you doing here?" I ask, as Harry scrambles to his feet.

"I came to see Dumbledore," she replies.

Looking at her more closely for the first time in several months, it occurs to me that she does not look very well at all. I suddenly remember what Ron had said over the summer: " _Every time I've seen her she's been looking more and more like Moaning Myrtle._ " At the time, I hadn't been able to believe it. Surely Tonks is the last person you would compare to Moaning Myrtle? But here she is, paler and thinner than usual, and her usual pink-coloured hair is mousy and lank.

"His office isn't here," Harry says, "it's round the other side of the castle, behind the gargoyle - "

"I know," Tonks interrupts. "He's not there. Apparently he's gone away again."

"Has he?" Harry says, finally putting his foot gingerly back on the floor. "Hey - you don't know where he goes, I suppose?"

"No."

"What did you want to see him about?" I ask.

"Nothing in particular," Tonks replies, picking, apparently unconsciously, at the sleeve of her robe. "I just thought he might know what's going on. I've heard rumours... people getting hurt."

"Yeah, we know, it's all been in the papers," Harry says. "That little kid tried to kill his - "

"The  _Prophet's_ often behind the times," Tonks says, apparently not listening to him. "You haven't had any letters from anyone in the Order recently?"

"No one from the Order writes to me anymore," Harry replies, "not since Sirius - " he stops when we see that her eyes have filled up with tears. He awkwardly mutters, "Sorry. I mean... I miss him as well."

"What?" Tonks says blankly, as though she hadn't heard him. "Well, I'll see you around, Harry, Hazel."

And she turns around abruptly and walks back down the corridor, leaving Harry and I to stare after her. We exchange confused looks, frowning, thrown by Tonks' behaviour; obviously, she'll be upset about what happened between her and Remus, and she'll be missing Sirius, but I hadn't expected her to be in such a state.

After a minute or so, Harry and I throw the Invisibility Cloak over ourselves again, and resume our efforts to get inside the Room of Requirement, but our attempts are half-hearted now. Finally, realising that Ron and Hermione will be back for lunch soon, we abandon our attempts and leave the corridor.

We find Ron and Hermione in the Great Hall, already halfway through an early lunch.

"I did it - well, kind of!" Ron tells Harry and I enthusiastically, when they see us. "I was supposed to be Apparating outside Madam Puddifoot's teashop and I overshot it a bit, ended up near Scrivenshafts, but at least I moved!"

"Good one," Harry says. "How'd you do, Hermione?"

"Oh, she was perfect, of course," Ron replies, before Hermione can. "Perfect deliberation, divination, and desperation or whatever the hell it is - we all went for a quick drink in the Three Broomsticks after and you should've heard Twycross going on about her - I'll be surprised if he doesn't pop the question soon - "

"And what about you two?" Hermione says, ignoring Ron. "Been up in the Room of Requirement all this time?"

"Yep," Harry replies. "And guess who we ran into up there? Tonks!"

"Tonks?" Ron and Hermione repeat together, looking surprised.

"Yeah, she said she'd come to visit Dumbledore."

"If you ask me," Ron says once Harry and I finish describing our encounter with Tonks, "she's cracking up a bit. Losing her nerve after what happened at the Ministry."

"It's a bit odd," Hermione says, looking about as concerned as I feel. "She's supposed to be guarding the school, why is she suddenly abandoning her post to come and see Dumbledore when he's not even there?"

"I had thought," Harry says tentatively. "You don't think she could've been... you know... in love with Sirius?"

Hermione and I stare at him, and the former says, "What on earth makes you say that?"

"I dunno," Harry replies, shrugging, "but she was nearly crying when I mentioned his name, and her Patronus is a big four-legged thing now. I wondered whether it's become... you know... him."

 _You've got the wrong Marauder, Harry,_ I think to myself.

My mind sticks with the fact that it's become a big, four-legged thing... it might not be Sirius' animagus, but it could be a werewolf... I shift uncomfortably in my seat, wondering if I should tell them. Of course, I don't think it's necessarily a secret, but I'm unsure if I should go around talking about it, since Remus and Tonks seem uncomfortable and upset about the whole thing.

"It's a thought," Hermione says thoughtfully, before I can make my mind up on telling them. "But I still don't see why she'd be bursting into the castle to see Dumbledore, if that's really why she was here."

"Goes back to what I said, doesn't it?" Ron says, now shovelling mashed potatoes into his mouth. "She's gone a bit funny. Lost her nerve. Women," he adds wisely to Harry, "they're easily upset."

I stop with my internal conflict long enough to give Ron a look, while Hermione, coming out of her reverie, says, "And yet, I doubt you'd find a woman who sulked for half an hour because Madam Rosmerta didn't laugh at their joke about the hag, the Healer, and the mimbulus mimbletonia."

I grin. Ron scowls.


	19. Letters

**Distance Means Nothing**

**Chapter Nineteen: Letters**

 

_Dear Hazel,_

_Mum and Dad are alright, I guess. I mean, it'll depend on your definition of 'alright,'  since they're the same as ever, but whatever, that's not the point. And I'm fine, too, I suppose. I've been better, though. Danny's moving away to Wales, so I won't be able to see him as much. He's promised to write and phone me when he can, but... I can tell it's going to be really, really hard. And I think he knows, too, but he tries not to act like it._

_Anyway, Alyssa and I have had a huge fight, and so I haven't seen a bunch of my friends in ages because they don't want to say anything to Alyssa, even though they know I'm totally right and that she's being a bitch. I suppose they aren't actual friends, then, are they? Either way, it's really boring now. I need to find some new friends._

_I imagine things aren't boring for you, are they? They never are, not when you're always being an idiot and getting into trouble. But how are you? The war's getting worse, isn't it? There are more reports of mysterious deaths on the news all over the place. Nobody can explain it. But I think your lot might be able to._

_It's really weird, actually. I mean, I bet everyone in your world is petrified and paranoid and don't want to go anywhere alone, and everything you told me makes it seem terrifying, and it's affecting us, too, we're getting killed and everything, but everything here is the exact same. None of us know and none of us care._

_But onto somewhat more pleasant matters, how's school? I'm doing terribly in English as usual, but I'm doing brilliantly in all my maths and science classes, so whatever. Who even needs English, anyway?_

_Hoping you're well,_

_Candy._

 

_Dear Candy,_

_Meh, I'm not surprised. I hardly expected your mum and dad to suddenly turn into saints when I left. If they did, though, I'm going to be really pissed. It's totally not fair that I get to miss out on them when they're decent - not that they'd be decent to me, because they probably wouldn't be, but... whatever. Forget that._

_As for Danny, that really sucks. But it can still work. Take it from a pretty busy person who has to deal with constantly sending owls to keep in touch with their busier boyfriend. It's hard and it really fucking sucks, but it can still work. As for your friends... I'd definitely advise some newer, better, more loyal friends. They can generally make things much more interesting._

_I don't know, things are actually pretty dull around here these days. I mean, my best friend was poisoned, we keep hearing about attacks all around the country (that aren't so mysterious), my Quidditch team just suffered an embarrassing defeat, two of my friends are still struggling to keep being friends again due to stupid relationship drama, and as usual there are suspicions about whether or not our own teachers or other students are on Voldemort's side. Really boring, this year just keeps dragging on..._

_That always throws me off when I come back for the summer. I deal with ten months of all this danger and everything, and then I go to Privet Drive and everything's just... normal. It's like nothing's happened, like nothing's wrong. To some people it might be comforting, but personally it makes me want to break everything in sight. I hate it. Like, I absolutely positively despise it._

_School's normal, I suppose. My schoolwork's starting to pile up again (which is why it took so long to send this to you, by the way. Sorry, but I sort of need to pass), so that really sucks, but... I'm managing._

_Someone who still doesn't understand why you actually enjoy maths,_

_Hazel_

 

_Dear Hazel,_

_It all depends on your definition of 'saint,' really. I mean, Mrs. Smith - you know, that really weird old lady in the house across from us - worships the ground Mum and Dad walk on, think they're a gift from heaven itself, but you look at them like they're something really gross you found under your shoes whenever they're looking the other way. It's all relative, you know?_

_I guess you've got a point - you would know, wouldn't you? Still, I've got a bad history with long distance relationships... remember Jessica Austin? Yeah, that definitely wasn't the best part of our relationship... still, I suppose I should have a bit more hope for this relationship. In all fairness, I was thirteen when I went out with Jessica, and I'd like to think that my relationship at seventeen is more dedicated than my relationship at thirteen... anyway, there aren't that many people in Little Whinging that want to be friends with me and I want to be friends with... I'll find that select few, though, and just wait for my other friends to come around - and trust me, they will. They usually do after fights like this, apologising a million times in the process. It's a bit funny, actually - until it gets annoying, anyway._

_Of course, I should've realised that the life of a witch in a situation like yours would be so, so boring. How stupid of me, really. Meanwhile, the really interesting things happening to me. Like, you know, the fact that my school's History teacher went into labour in the middle of the day last week. That was really scary, actually._

_It really would suck for you. And other people who grew up with people like me, I suppose. you said there were lots of them, didn't you? I couldn't imagine what it'd be like to be in all that chaos for so long and then just go back to a world where it's almost as if it's not happening at all, where you can easily pretend like it's not happening, as long as you don't look too deeply into the news. That's insane._

_I hate you, Hazel. You got to a magical school and you have the nerve to complain about doing your magical work? If you don't like it so much, why don't we switch places and you can do my normal Science and Maths that you hate so much (and, for the record, I don't understand how you can not like Maths). And no hard feelings about the late reply. This reply's late, since I've got to pass this year, too._

_Sincerely, Candy_

_P.S. Can you tell your bloody owl to not be so loud when he delivers my letters? Dad almost caught me when he delivered my letter._

 

_Dear Candy,_

_Does she? I knew there was a reason I didn't trust Mrs. Smith - even without the fact that she always glares at me and mutters things like 'No good delinquent' whenever I walk past. I always got a bad feeling about her._

_You dated Jessica Austin? That'll explain that one time she asked me a bunch of questions about you that one time a couple years ago. I was really confused, because she's always hated my guts and then she comes up to me and asks me a bunch of weird questions that I figured she could ask you, but I guess now she was too shy or too embarrassed, or something - which is weird, because I don't remember her being anything like that. Anyway, that's the spirit! Try to be a bit more positive about the whole thing, otherwise you'll be doomed even before he moves. And as for your friends, my personal advice would be to not forgive them right away. Keep them begging. It's what they deserve for abandoning you even though they knew you were right._

_Wait, she did? She just... suddenly went into labour? Well, that's bloody terrifying. I'm going to assume that she got to a hospital or something in time, because I think something like this is not something that should be taken care of by your regular school nurse._

_It's very, very, very maddening. Now I think you'll understand why I wanted to explode every three seconds during that summer two years ago. No useful news, no useful letters from friends, no useful... anything. It got to me._

_Oi, I hate you, too. I think I'd prefer not to do maths again, but thanks for that offer. For the record, learning magic is not always very fun. It's actually pretty difficult and complicated and difficult and time-consuming and difficult and strenuous and did I mention difficult? Because it is. And for the record, actually enjoying maths makes no sense. Not like I didn't do well, but it's still horrible._

_Sincerely,_

_Hazel._

_P.S. Sorry about that. It's weird, I told him to be quiet when I first sent you a letter, and he usually does what I tell him to. Everything should be okay from now on, though, because I threatened to not give him any more of his favourite treats if I get any more reports from you about how he's not being quiet._

 

_Dear Hazel,_

_All's well here. Business is starting to pick up again, so we haven't got many complaints - or, we wouldn't if it weren't for the fact that Diagon Alley's getting worse and worse all around us. More shops are closing down or getting Ministry posters hung up all over their windows. It's affecting Fred the worst, I think, but he tries not to act like it. He tries not to act like a whiny git about the whole thing, but you can tell he hates it most. Verity's noticed it, too. It's obviously hard on all of us, but... he used to dream about this all the time, used to talk about opening this shop and being really successful and working near Florean Fortescue and Ollivander and now they're both gone and it just keeps getting worse. Do me a favour, Knight, and cheer him up as best as you can with your letters. We're trying here, but your womanly methods or whatever are usually effective, so..._

_Anyway, if I hear correctly from my darling brother, Ron, you're all learning how to Apparate. Ron didn't mention how well he's doing, which really only means he's doing horribly. Which, you know, we're totally not going to talk about, because there's no shame in not being able to Apparate or failing your test, even though it's worth noting that Fred and I passed with distinction on our first attempt. Just thought I should mention that. No real reason, of course, just as background knowledge. Anyway, Hazel, how are you doing with Apparating? Not that I expect you to do very well. After all, you're only just learning, and it's definitely not like Fred and I passed our test with flying colours the first time. That definitely didn't happen, so there's no need to be discouraged, Knight!_

_Onto matters less impressive than the fact that Fred and I may or may not have passed our Apparition test on the first try, is Snape still the biggest git ever? And is that Slughorn bloke still the biggest kiss-up ever to his so-called 'worthy' students? Speaking of Slughorn, have they got any idea who poisoned Ron? They probably haven't decided on anyone, have they, or they probably would've said something. The Daily Prophet's been dying to print something actually useful and true for ages, and then they find out about a Death Eater in the school trying to kill some specific victim but hurting person after person in the process... they'd jump on a story like this._

_Also, we've gotten word that you're skipping meals and staying up late again to finish your stupid schoolwork. Hazel Knight, haven't we taught you anything? Merlin, when will you ever learn? And, you know, I'm willing to bet my life on the fact that you probably have a month to finish that homework you're staying up so late and skipping so many meals to finish. Don't think we're afraid of barging into the school and knocking some sense into you. I promise you, Knight, we're not, so don't make us come down there._

_Sincerely,_

_George_

 

_Dear George,_

_Yeah, I keep hearing about more disappearances and more shops closing down. I don't blame him for feeling horrible, it must be awful to have to see every day. Sort of wish I was there to cheer him up in person, but I suppose a bunch of words on parchment will have to do for now. Trust me, George, me and my womanly methods will do whatever is in our power to cheer him up (and, I don't know if you've noticed this, but we've got a lot of power, me and my womanly methods)._

_Your darling brother is right, we are doing Apparition. And you are not as subtle as you think you are, George Weasley. If you think I'm going to go around betraying my best friend's trust just so that you can find out whether or not you can take the mickey out of Ron, then let me tell you something, you are dead wrong. Oh, and Apparition is so terribly difficult! It's just so hard, I really don't understand how you and Fred were clever enough to get it so quickly! I mean, to pass the first time! There's no way I'm going to be able to do that! I'm doomed!_

_And if it wasn't extremely obvious, I am being completely and utterly sarcastic. Apparating's obviously hard, but I'm getting the hang of it. I was the first out of the sixth years to manage how to do it, and that Twilkie Twycross bloke told me that he's almost completely certain I'll pass my test when the time comes, so take that, and stop being so bloody cocky. Or you will never get another peaceful moment when I'm seventeen and can Apparate and do magic whenever I want. You have my word on that one._

_Yes, Snape is still the biggest git ever, and yes, Slughorn is still the biggest kiss-up ever to his so-called 'worthy' students. It hasn't been that long, Weasley, and even if it has, what did you expect? Some things never change. As for Ron, no, they haven't got anyone, and if they did, it's like you said, you'd definitely know by now. Hagrid says that Dumbledore's got about a million different theories, but that's nothing new, so we haven't got much to go by but our own suspicions._

_As for my so-called meal-skipping and all-nighters, I'd like to have a word with whoever the hell you got word from (I'm guessing it's Ron or Ginny). First of all, what meals I may or may not be eating and sleeps that I may or may not be getting do not entirely concern you at this point in time, George Weasley, nor do my study habits, thank you very much, so you'll do well to stay out of them. But if it makes you feel any better, I'd say I'm reasonably well-fed, and I'm a lot less tired than I was last year, and, well... you saw me last year. You know it's an improvement. You will not go barging this castle due to word that may or may not be false about my sleeping and eating habits, because it may or may not be the last thing you ever do. You have been warned._

_Sincerely,_

_Hazel_

 

_Dear Hazel,_

_Wonderful. It is fantastic to know that you and your womanly methods are on the case - now do me a favour and never talk to me about them again. Don't talk about them vaguely, don't go into detail ( especially don't go into detail, and let's just... pretend they don't exist. I beg of you. I wish to live a long and happy life that doesn't include knowing about your womanly methods._

_I don't know what you're talking about Hazel. I am the master of subtlety. And for the record, your refusal to tell me how Ron's doing instead of just insisting he's doing brilliantly, especially since you've gone on and on about how well you're doing, is telling me everything I need to know. Now who's not as subtle (or as clever, either) as they think they are, Knight? Speaking of which, no need for the sarcasm or the bragging. It all comes down to whether or not you pass your test, Knight, so let's see how you do when you're 17._

_You've got a point there, I can't say I'm surprised about Snape or Slughorn alike. Or what happened to Ron, for that matter. Of course Dumbledore's got a million ideas about what's going on, all of them probably more clever and more mad than any of us can imagine, that's just the way Dumbledore is. Clever and mad and confusing._

_I find it insulting the way you think I'd just sell out the people who provide me with quality_ _information about what's going on in the school, including how much sleep certain dark-haired Gryffindor idiots are getting and how much they might be eating. I would never commit an act of such treachery, I thought you knew me better than that, Knight. And as your very caring, fantastic, and just all around greatest friend in the world, your eating and sleeping habits are very much my concern, thank you very much. And by the way, it's obvious they're not at their greatest, because instead of simply reassuring me that you're sleeping and eating enough, you decided to be all discreet. Again, you're no master at subtlety. And don't compare yourself to last year, either, because it was your O.W.L. year, so it's not saying much to say you're just better now._

_Sincerely,_

_George._

_P.S. I find it adorable the way you think your threats have any effect. We'll go barging into the school if we want to, Knight._

 

_Dear George,_

_Oi, you're the one who brought up my womanly methods in the first place. I could've happily kept going on with these letters without you bringing it up. I'll talk about them as much as I bloody want, and you can't get angry, because you brought it on yourself. Besides, I have to deal with you going around and obnoxiously being a man, so you can deal with me going around and obnoxiously being a woman (though it feels really weird calling myself a woman - but no weirder than it feels to call you a man)._

_Some master you are, Weasley, I see right through you. And I have no idea what you're talking about with Ron. He is doing brilliantly; he's managed to Apparate and everything. I just wanted to let you know that I'm not the type to betray my friends in the manner that you were suggesting, that's all. Oh, so now I'm the one bragging? Me, and not you, who went on and on and on about how you and Fred passed your tests the first time around? We will see, and I'll pass the test with flying colours; if you can do it, I can._

_Clever and mad and confusing... yeah, that's Dumbledore in a nutshell. It's why he's brilliant, though, so I don't much mind it. He's hardly around these days, though. I think he's doing things for the Order. I mean, he's bound to be, he never left a lot before, and it's all getting worse and worse, isn't it?_

_"Certain dark-haired Gryffindor idiots" hmmm... I wonder who you could be talking about... Harry? Hermione? Dean Thomas? Seamus Finnigan? Neville Longbottom? They're all going to be awfully offended when I tell them that you called them idiots behind their backs. Really, George, I thought you were better than this, I'm so disappointed. Also, thanks for completely giving away the fact that it's Ron and Ginny telling you all this. I'm very excited to teach them a lesson about spreading what or may not be lies about my sleeping and eating habits. And, just so you know, the reason I'm refusing to go into the details is so that you realise that it is absolutely none of your business. Hopefully one day you will realise this._

_Sincerely,_

_Hazel_

_P.S. My threats are very effective. They would have been more effective if I could say them to your face; you'd be terrified, then, wouldn't you be?_

 

_Dear Fred,_

_How are you? I heard about more shops getting boarded up (I'm so glad I have a reliable source like George instead of something as untrustworthy as the Prophet), that must be awful to see, I'm really sorry about that. Things are pretty grim at Hogwarts too, especially with more news of people's relatives dying, but there's something much worse about seeing it in front of your eyes (of course, Snape's always around to make sure things don't look too pleasant, which is probably more why he's here than the whole teaching thing, but that's besides the point. Mostly)._

_You know, if you want, I could or could not slip away into Hogsmeade undetected (I mean, it wouldn't be the first time, would it?) on one completely random night that may or may not have been pre-determined and you could or could not just happen to be hanging around at that time and, since we could or could not just coincidentally bump into each other, we could or could not hang our for a while. You know. If you want. Besides, as you may or may not have noticed, it's all very circumstantial, so, you know. If you want, then I wouldn't be opposed. Just so you're aware of the possibilities._

_Extremely circumstantial events that may or may not happen aside, we're currently learning Apparition and I have to admit that it's easier than I thought it would be. I mean, it's definitely still hard, but you know what I mean. It's probably because you and George made it seem like it was mission impossible that you two were successful at only because you're, like, the most talented wizards in the world. In hindsight, I totally should've called bullshit earlier, but I get nervous about new types of magic. Growing up in the Muggle world does not have that many perks around here. Oh, and before you ask, Ron is doing fantastic in Apparition and even if he isn't, it's none of your business, and you aren't ever going to hear anything different from me, ever._

_Also, I have a question that is of vital importance: what was it that you were going to tell me at Christmas? I know we've got all the time in the world and everything, but I've never been particularly patient. Come on, stop torturing me or I'm going to start thinking all this 'all the time in the world' stuff is a front and you've actually got six months to live, or something. You're terrifying me, here. Whatever it is, I won't hate you forever for it (probably)._

_Anyway, Hermione's telling at me to wrap this up because she wants me to go over her essay with me (like she needs the help), so I may or may not see you soon._

_Sincerely,_

_Hazel_

 

_Dear Hazel,_

_I'm well enough, considering everything that's happening. It really sucks to see, but we're managing, and business is really good, so that's something, isn't it? Yeah, I heard parents want to pull their kids out of school to keep them safe. Completely mental, if you ask me. There's nowhere safer than Hogwarts now, with all that extra security and Dumbledore's presence in general. Even if he is going old, they don't call him the only one You-Know-Who feared for nothing._

_As for this circumstantial event... Merlin, you really have no idea how much I want to see you. But it's dangerous these days. Besides, with how tight security is over at Hogwarts, I don't think the teachers will punish you too lightly if you're caught. I couldn't ask you to do that. I really do want to see you, though._

_We made it seem like mission impossible that we were only successful at because we're the most talented wizards in the world, because it was exactly like that. Honestly, I think you're just lying to make yourself feel better about your crushing defeat. It's alright, Knight, not all of us can be as talented as George and I; it's okay. That's just how things are sometimes. As for Ron, I'm not so sure about that one, Knight. We'll see about that when he takes his test. Speaking of which, is he still with that Lavender Brown, or what?_

_I told you, it's nothing to worry about. But I also don't want to tell you in the form of a letter. I will clear this up, though: it's not that I have six months to live. I'm definitely not going anywhere any time soon, so you can sleep easier about that. It is not a front, I mean what I sat at all times, Knight, especially to you; we really do have all the time in the world, I mean it. And that 'probably' is really reassuring me, here. Good to know that I have absolutely nothing to worry about._

_For safety reasons, I'm going to have to lean on the 'may not' part of that sentence._

_Sincerely,_

_Fred_

 

_Dear Fred,_

_Yeah, well, we don't have Dumbledore's presence all the time anymore. He's away more than he's here nowadays. I reckon doing stuff for the Order, but sometimes I think nobody really knows what's going on with Dumbledore except for Dumbledore, so... I suppose I can understand the concern._

_Come on, since when do you care about danger or trouble? I'm reasonably good at defending myself, and you may or may not be there, anyway, if all goes wrong. I've managed before, I can manage again. You know I can. And I'm not an ickle firstie, anymore, it's not easy for me to get caught, I'll be fine. You don't have to worry so much about me, Fred, really. I want to see you, too, and we can see each other._

_The only person lying here is you. It's alright, Fred, not all of us can not be arrogant little gits, unlike you and George; it's okay. That's just how things are sometimes. And Ron'll do just fine on his test. Besides, even if he doesn't, it's not like he's the first person to ever fail his test. It's perfectly fine. As for Lavender... I suppose so? Officially speaking, yes, they say they're together and Hermione always gets upset whenever she's around, so I guess it really is happening, but... it's going downhill, to be honest. Ron's always really unhappy whenever she's around now, and Lavender's getting more easily jealous. The amount of times I've had to insist I have no interest in Ron is really getting ridiculous. As if I'm not dating you, his brother._

_So, on one hand, it's nothing, but on the other hand, it's significant enough for you to not want to tell me in ways like a letter? As reassuring as it is to know that you have more than six months of life left on your hands, you're still leaving me feeling rather uneasy here. So, during this all the time in the world thing, when do you plan on telling me? Alright, fine: I almost definitely won't hate you for it. Is that better? Now tell me._

_Come on, who cares about things as stupid as safety reasons?_

_Sincerely,_

_Hazel_

 

_Dear Hazel,_

_You've got a point there; who knows what's going on with Dumbledore except for Dumbledore? You know, sometimes I reckon that not even Dumbledore knows what's going on with Dumbledore. Still, Hogwarts with its infinite enchantments and Aurors have got to be safer than these people's homes, right? I get wanting to be with your kid, too, when you could die at any second, but... I'd want my kid to be as safe as possible more than anything._

_I care about danger and trouble when it's you getting in danger and trouble, Hazel, that's when. I thought you knew that by now. But I do suppose you're right, you can manage yourself... and I'd be there, too... and a quick visit couldn't hurt too badly, could it? Merlin, I can't even believe I'm saying this, and I'll be surprised if I don't regret this later, but... meet me at the Shrieking Shack at Midnight this Saturday. But it'll be quick, alright, and I'm walking you back to the passage and everything._

_I may be a lot of things, Hazel Knight, but I'm no liar, thank you very much. A lot of people may fail their Apparition tests, but George and I didn't, so ha. We'll see about Ron. If they're so unhappy, why doesn't Ron just end it with her? Then again, I suppose he's never really had to do this before, so he's not quite sure how to go about it... my poor inexperienced little brother... and his poor misguided girlfriend... and poor me, I now have to try and get the image of you and Ron together out of my mind. I could have happily gone my entire life without having to deal with an image like that in my mind._

_It's... complicated. But I swear you haven't got anything to worry about, Knight, so don't feel uneasy. Everything's totally fine, I promise. It's just kind of hard to get out, but it's nothing to worry about. I'll tell you when the time is right, as stupid as that sounds. Don't worry about it, really. And, yes, 'almost definitely' is much, much better, thank you for healing my soul, Hazel. I appreciate it deeply._

_Since when did I become the more sensible and rational one here? Something doesn't feel right._

_Sincerely,_

_Fred._

_P.S. Don't tell anyone about Saturday. The less people that know, the less easy it is to get caught. Besides, I kind of want it to be our secret, you know? I'll see you soon, luckily; I reckon you're going to be keeping me from going mad around here._


	20. Cupid's Bad Mood

**Distance Means Nothing**

**Chapter Twenty: Cupid's Bad Mood**

 

Patches of bright blue sky are beginning to appear over castle turrets, and I'm glad for the signs of summer approaching. It might not be doing too much to life my mood with all the darkness in and outside of the castle, but it is something. I like to think of it as a good omen, be it for my meeting with Fred on Saturday or something else.

Harry isn't in much of a good mood, however. He had been thwarted, not only in his attempts to find out what Malfoy is up to, but in his attempt to get the memory that Slughorn is so determined in keeping a secret.

"For the last time, just forget about Malfoy," Hermione tells Harry firmly.

She, Harry, Ron, and I are sitting in a sunny corner of the courtyard after lunch. Ron and Hermione are both clutching a Ministry of Magic leaflet -  _Common Apparition Mistakes and How to Avoid Them_ \- for they are taking their tests this afternoon, but reading the leaflet over and over again evidently has not done much for their nerves.

Ron gives a start and tries to hide behind Hermione as a girl comes around the corner, due to his new resolve to simply hide from Lavender instead of breaking up with her.

"It isn't Lavender," Hermione says wearily.

"Oh, good," Ron says, relaxing.

"Harry Potter?" says the girl. "I was asked to give you this."

"Thanks..." Harry takes the small scroll of parchment and says, once the girl is out of earshot, "Dumbledore said we wouldn't be having any more lessons until I got the memory!"

"Maybe he wants to check on how you're doing?" Hermione suggests, as Harry unrolls the parchment.

I peer over his shoulder, curious, but instead of Dumbledore's long, narrow, slanted handwriting, I see an untidy scrawl, very difficult to read due to the large splotches on the page from where the ink had run.

 

_Dear Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Hazel,_

_Aragog died last night. Harry, Ron, Hazel, you met him and you know how special he was. Hermione, I know you would've liked him. It would mean a lot if you nipped down for his burial later this evening. I'm planning on doing it around dusk, that was his favourite time of day. I know you're not supposed to be out late, but you can use the Cloak. Wouldn't ask, but I can't face it alone._

_Hagrid_

 

"He can't be serious," I say, exchanging disbelieving looks with Harry.

"Look at this," he says, handing the note to Hermione.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," she says, scanning the note and handing it to Ron, who reads through it while looking increasingly incredulous.

"He's mental!" Ron says furiously. "That thing told its mates to eat Harry and Hazel and me! Told them to help themselves! And now Hagrid expects us to go down there and cry over its horrible hairy body."

"It's not just that," Hermione adds. "He's asking us to leave the castle at night and he knows security's a million times tighter and how much trouble we'd be in if we're caught."

I bite down on my lip, looking down at the parchment. I have no love for Aragog, but I do have love for Hagrid, and he rarely asks us to sneak out at night unless it's important... especially in dangerous times...

"We've been down to see him by night before," Harry points out.

"Yes, but for something like this?" Hermione says. "We've risked a lot to help Hagrid out, but after all - Aragog's dead. If it were a question of saving him - "

"I'd want to go even less," Ron cuts in. "You didn't meet him, Hermione. Trust me, being dead will have improved him a lot."

I look over at the inky blotches all over the note... he had clearly cried a lot writing this note...

"Hagrid doesn't ask us to sneak out at night in dangerous times unless it's really important," I say. "He  _needs_ us. Otherwise he wouldn't be asking."

"You two can't be thinking of going," Hermione says. "It's such a pointless thing to get detention for."

Harry sighs.

"Yeah, I know," he says. "I s'pose Hagrid'll have to bury Aragog without us."

The three of them look over at me, so I swallow down my guilt and say, "I guess he'll manage... and we can visit him in the morning..."

"Yes, that's right," Hermione says, looking relieved. "Look, Potions will be almost empty this afternoon, with most of us taking our tests... try and soften Slughorn up a bit then!"

"Fifty-seventh time lucky, d'you think?" Harry says bitterly.

"Lucky," Ron says suddenly. "That's it, Harry - get lucky!"

"What d'you mean?"

"Use your lucky potion!"

"Ron, that's brilliant!" I say, straightening up. "I can't believe we didn't think of that before!"

Harry stares at us.

"Felix Felicis?" he says. "I don't know... I was sort of saving it..."

"What for?" Ron demands.

"What on earth is more important than this memory, Harry?"

Harry doesn't answer, remaining silent for a long time. When his eyes start to glaze over, I decide to step in.

"Harry?" I say loudly. "Are you still with us?"

"Wha - yeah, of course," he says, pulling himself together. "Well... okay. If I can't get Slughorn to talk this afternoon, I'll take some Felix and have another go this evening."

"That's decided, then," Hermione says briskly, getting to her feet and performing a graceful pirouette. "Destination... determination.. deliberation..."

"Oh, stop that," Ron begs her, "I feel sick enough as it is - hide me!"

"Not Lavender," I say casually, as a couple of girls appear in the courtyard and Ron dives behind me.

"Cool," Ron says, peering over my shoulder to check. "Blimey, they don't look happy, do they?"

"They're the Montgomery sisters, and of course they're not happy, didn't you hear what happened to their little brother?" Hermione says.

"I'm losing track of what's happening to everyone's relatives, to be honest," Ron admits.

"Well, their brother was attacked by a werewolf," Hermione states. "The rumour is that their mother refused to join the Death Eaters. Anyway, the boy was only five and he died in St. Mungo's, they couldn't save him."

"He died?" Harry repeats, shocked. "But surely werewolves don't kill, they only turn you into one of them?"

"Sometimes they kill," Ron says, now rather grave. "I've heard of it happening when a werewolf gets carried away."

"What was the werewolf's name?" Harry asks quickly, though I already have an idea.

"Well, the rumour is that it was Fenrir Greyback," Hermione replies, confirming my theory.

"I knew it - the maniac who likes attacking kids, the one Lupin told me about!" Harry says angrily.

Hermione looks over at him bleakly, saying, "Harry, you've got to get that memory. It's all about stopping Voldemort, isn't it? These dreadful things that are happening all come down to him..."

The bell overhead in the castle rings and both Ron and Hermione jump, looking terrified. For their sake, I try not to laugh at their expressions.

"You'll do fine," I say instead, as they both head for the Entrance Hall to meet with the rest of the people taking their Apparition tests.

"Yeah, good luck," Harry adds.

"You too!" Hermione calls, giving him a meaningful look, as we head for the dungeons.

"Well, looks like it's just you and me," I announce, as we head down the stairs to the dungeons.

That statement turns out to be wrong. There are two other people left: Malfoy and Ernie. This should be fun.

"All too young to Apparate just yet?" Slughorn says genially. "Not turned seventeen yet?"

We shake our heads.

"Ah, well," says Slughorn cheerily, "as we're so few, we'll do something for fun. I want you all to brew me up something amusing!"

"That sounds good, sir," Ernie says, rubbing his hands together, clearly trying to impress Slughorn.

Malfoy, on the other hand, does not even crack a smile; instead, he asks rather irritably, "What do you mean, 'something amusing'?"

"Oh, surprise me," Slughorn replies airily, either not noticing or not caring about Malfoy's irritation. I get the feeling that Slughorn and I have different ideas of what's amusing and what isn't, but I do know that I can surprise him... yes, that, if anything, is something I can do.

Malfoy opens his copy of  _Advanced Potion-Making_ with a sulky expression. It can't be plainer that he thinks this lesson to be a waste of his time. Perhaps he would have preferred to spend more time in the Room of Requirement doing... well, whatever doubtlessly terrible thing he's doing in there.

Now that I look at him, Malfoy does look different... thinner, like Tonks. He looks paler, too; his skin still has that greyish tinge to it, probably because he sees daylight so rarely at this point. But he has no air of smugness, excitement, or superiority that I've come to associate with Malfoy, especially at the beginning of this year. Could this mean that whatever it is he's doing isn't working out for him?

Rather comforted by this thought, especially if he really is working for Voldemort, I flip through Advanced Potion-Making, trying to find something to make. Unable to find something that really interests me, I settle with making a potion from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes that I'd helped develop; it was a potion to change the colour of any type of hair (this includes the hair on your head, eyebrows, eyelashes, and even body hair). The instructions are nearly the exact same for every colour; the only difference is to add something that is the same colour as the hair colour you want.

I decide on blue and dig through my bag for some disposable object of that colour, until I find a handful of little rainbow-coloured beads at the bottom. The beads belonged to a bracelet Lavender had once owned. She and Parvati had been passing Hermione and I in the corridor once, tugging on the bracelet while she ranted about how she thinks Ron is avoiding her. Just as she had passed Hermione and I, she tugged too hard and the bracelet broke, the beads scattering everywhere. While Hermione pretended to be blissfully ignorant of the situation, I bent down and picked most of them up, Parvati picking up the rest. When I had handed the beads to her, she said, looking close to tears, "Oh, just keep the stupid things!" and stormed off, leaving Parvati groaning and hastening to keep up with her friend. I had meant to give them back to her when she was a bit more calm, but I kept forgetting. I look at them now in my hand, shaking them slightly, and deciding whether I should use them in my potion. They didn't belong to me, and there was a reason we had never tried making a rainbow coloured; we figured it was too big of a risk at the time... but it had to be tried out eventually, hadn't it? And technically, the beads  _were_ mine now...

I decide to take the risk; I toss a few of them in the potion and stir carefully. Three times clockwise, twice counterclockwise, then repeat seven times...

It works out rather well, if I do say so myself, so that an hour and a half later, when Slughorn inspects our potions, I'm rather proud of my rainbow-coloured potion. I even take a sample of it, making a mental note to try it out on someone before Saturday night so I could report to Fred to see if it works. Slughorn looks rather impressed, as well, smiling jovially down at my cauldron.

"Now, this looks interesting!" he announces. "I'm tempted to take it myself!"

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, sir," I reply, shrugging. "Unless you're interested in having rainbow-coloured hair."

He laughs at that, patting my shoulder, before moving onto Harry's potion, which is the colour of sunshine. He had brewed a potion that brings Euphoria, which was clever on his part, because if he could get Slughorn to try some, that would put him in a good mood - maybe even good enough to give Harry that memory.

"Well, now, this looks absolutely wonderful," Slughorn states, staring down at Harry's cauldron. "Euphoria, I take it? And what's that smell? Mmm... you've added just a sprig of peppermint, haven't you? Unorthodox, but what a stroke of inspiration, Harry, of course, that would tent to counterbalance the occasional side-effects of excessive singing and nose-tweaking... I really don't get where you get these brainwaves, my bow... unless - "

My gaze flickers over to Harry, and I hope I don't look very nervous. There's no way Slughorn knows about the Half-Blood Prince's book, right?

" - it's just your mother's genes coming out in you!"

"Oh... yeah, maybe," says Harry, visibly relieved.

Ernie looks rather grumpy; determined to outshine Harry fro once, he had made the rash decision to invent his own potion, which had curdled and formed a sort of purple dumpling at the bottom of his cauldron. I'd feel more bad for him if it wasn't for the fat that I had warned him that it was nearly impossible to just make up a potion on the spot. Malfoy is already packed-up, sour-faced; Slughorn had deemed his Hiccuping Solution merely "passable."

The bell rings overhead and Ernie and Malfoy leave at once. I follow closely behind them, looking back at Harry and mouthing, "Good luck."

When I see him next, he's sitting in the common room, looking rather dejected, so that I already know that he failed in getting the memory. However, I ask him how it went as I sit across from him, anyway, deciding it's more polite to act as if he might have succeeded.

"No good," Harry says, sighing and shrugging.

"So," I say, lowering my voice and leaning in closer, "you're bringing Felix into this?"

"Guess I'll have to," he replies. "Not the whole thing, tough. I won't need twenty-four hours; I'll hardly need a night."

Ron and Hermione return late in the afternoon.

"Harry, Hazel!" she cries, climbing through the portrait hole. "I passed! I passed!"

"Well done!" Harry says, as I hug her, patting her back. "And Ron?"

"He - he just failed," Hermione whispers, as Ron comes slouching into the common room. "It was really unlucky, a tiny thing, the examiner just spotted that he'd left half an eyebrow behind... how'd it go with Slughorn?"

"No luck," Harry replies, as Ron joins us. "Bad luck, mate, but you'll pass next time - we can take it together."

"Yeah, I suppose," Ron says grumpily. "But half an eyebrow - like that matters!"

"I know," Hermione agrees soothingly, "it does really seem harsh..."

We spend most of dinner abusing the examiner, so that Ron looks slightly more cheerful when we leave for the common room again, now discussing the continuing problem of Slughorn and the memory.

"So, Harry - you going to use Felix Felicis or what?" Ron demands.

"Yeah, I suppose I'd better," Harry answers. "I don't reckon I'll need all of it, not twenty-four hours' worth. I'll just take a mouthful. Two or three hours should do it."

"It's a great feeling when you take it," Ron says reminiscently. "Like you can't do anything wrong."

"What are you talking about?" Hermione laughs. "You've never taken it before!"

"Yeah, but I thought I had, hadn't I?" Ron says, as though pointing out the obvious. "Same difference, really..."

As we've only just seen Slughorn enter the Great Hall and we know that he tends to take his time during meals, we linger for a while in the common room, the plan being that Harry should go to Slughorn's office once the teacher had had time to get back there. When the sun has sunk to the level of the treetops in the Forbidden Forest, we decide that the time is now, so after checking carefully to see that Dean, Neville, and Seamus are all in the common room, we sneak up to the boys' dormitories.

Harry takes out the rolled-up socks from the bottom of his trunk and extracts the tiny, gleaming bottle.

"Well, here goes," Harry says, raising the bottle and taking a carefully measured gulp.

"What does it feel like?" I ask in hushed tones, after an acceptable amount of dramatic silence.

For a moment, Harry does not answer. Then he gets to his feet, smiling brightly.

"Excellent," he replies. "Really excellent. Right... I'm going down to Hagrid's."

"What?" Ron, Hermione, and I say together, aghast.

"No, Harry, you've got to see Slughorn, remember?" Hermione adds.

"No," Harry says confidently, "I'm going to Hagrid's. I've got a good feeling about going to Hagrid's."

"You've got a good feeling about going to bury a giant spider?" Ron asks, looking stunned.

"Yeah," Harry replies, pulling his Invisibility Cloak out of his bag, "I feel like it's the place to be tonight, you know what I mean?"

"No," Ron, Hermione, and I say in unison, positively alarmed now.

"This is Felix Felicis, I suppose?" Hermione says anxiously, holding the bottle up to the light. "Not something else, right?"

"It looks like Felix Felicis," I state, examining the bottle carefully. "But who knows? Maybe it is something else, like - like - "

"Essence of Insanity?" Ron suggests, as Harry swings the Cloak over his shoulders.

Harry laughs at that, making Ron, Hermione, and I exchange alarmed looks.

"Trust me," Harry says. "I know what I'm doing... or at least," he strolls confidently towards the door, the Cloak making him seem like a floating head, "Felix does."

He pulls the Invisibility Cloak over his head and set off down the stairs, Ron, Hermione, and I hurrying after him. At the foot of the stairs, Harry sticks out his hand to open the door and slides through.

"What are you doing with her?" shrieks Lavender, staring at Hermione and Ron as we emerge from the boys' dormitories. In her anger, she seems to forget all about my presence. Ron starts spluttering, and after a few moments of it, I decide to step in.

"I think what Ron's trying to say, Lavender, is that it's not what you think it is," I say reassuringly. "I was there, nothing happened - "

"So you're covering for them!" she bursts out.

"I don't think we should jump to conclusions here - " I say, as I see Ginny and Dean enter the common room, whispering furiously at one another.

 _This can't all be happening at the same time,_ I think miserably, wishing that I had taken some Felix Felicis myself, or that I was down at Hagrid's; surely the funeral of a giant spider would be more pleasant than this.

"I'm not jumping to conclusions! We all know that it's been happening for ages, that she's been waiting to do this!"

It continues much like this for who knows how long, and with Ron appearing too stunned to do anything but splutter, Lavender rants on interrupted. Meanwhile, Ginny and Dean seem to be arguing, their words unheard, courtesy of Lavender.

Lavender ends her rant by taking several steps forward until she's in front of Ron and saying, "I won't stand for this any longer! I won't just stand by and take this! We're done! We're over!"

And with that, she storms past, into the girls' dormitories, Parvati following after her, looking sheepish. There's silence between us for a long time after Lavender slams the door shut.

"Did she - did she just break up with me?" Ron finally says, the first coherent sentence he's said ever since Lavender started yelling.

"Yes," Hermione says, looking as though she's fighting a smile. "Yes, she did."

"Well, then - then that solves it, doesn't it?" Ron says, swallowing. "Everything's fine now."

"I guess so," I say, not understanding what to make of what just happened.

I look over at where Ginny and Dean had been standing, to find that they're gone. Scanning the common room, I find Dean and Seamus sitting in a corner of the common room, whispering darkly to one another, while Ginny is nowhere to be found. So, clearly that fight didn't end well. Deciding to talk to Ginny about what happened, I turn to Hermione.

"I think Ginny and Dean just had another fight," I whisper. "I'm going to ask her about it. I suppose you won't have a problem with being alone with Ron anymore?"

"Shut up," she whispers back, though she's smiling now.

"I'll be back," I announce, moving away and speaking louder now. "Don't miss me too much."

Ron, still in a state of shock, doesn't say anything, while Hermione just nods. I decide to look for Ginny in her dormitory first. Hoping not to run into Lavender, I jog up the staircase of the girls' dormitory, knocking when I reach the door labelled 'Fifth years.'

"Ginny? Are you in there?" I say. "It's me, Hazel."

There's a short pause, then her voice calls, "Come in."

I open the door to see that she's alone in the dormitory, sprawled out on her bed, staring up blankly at the canvas of her four-poster, her hair fanning out around her on the bed.

"Ginny?" I say, somewhat cautiously. "Are you okay? I saw you fighting with Dean."

"We broke up," she announces. "Dean and I, we're done. We had another stupid fight. He always tries to help me through the portrait hole, so I told him to cut it out because I can do it myself. One thing led to another and then he said that if I can do everything by myself, maybe we should just break up, so I told him that maybe we should, and now here we are."

"Oh," I say, surprised. I knew the fight had ended badly, but I didn't think it was that bad. And I knew they would be breaking up at one point or another, but it's still surprising to hear. "Oh, Ginny, I'm really sorry - "

"Don't be," she shrugs. "We all knew it was coming. Besides, my brothers'll be thrilled."

"Yeah, but are you thrilled?" I ask, moving forward and sitting down at the foot of her bed.

"Not really, but I will be," she replies. Then, before I can say anything else, she sits up and says, "Anyway, what was Lavender yelling about?"

"Oh, she saw Ron and Hermione leaving the boys' dormitories together, so she sort of assumed that they went and did - well, let's not get into the specifics of what she thought," I reply.

"But you were there, too, weren't you?" Ginny says. "Unless she thinks that all three of you - "

"Please don't finish that sentence," I say, groaning. "She thinks I was covering for them - you know, because we're friends. Ron and Hermione have been spending more time together for a while now, and she's not used to it, because when they first started dating, Hermione wouldn't even breathe the same air as him. I suppose this was sort of a breaking point."

"That makes sense," Ginny concedes, "I guess. This is a really bad night for love, isn't it?"

"The worst," I agree. "Maybe Cupid was in a bad mood."

Ginny grins, "Cupid's a bitch."

"He's known to be nice sometimes, though," I say, giving her a meaningful sort of look.

"We'll see," she says indifferently.

I think about Harry, under the influence of Felix Felicis, over at Hagrid's for God knows what reason; Lavender's rant, followed by Ron's stunned expression and Hermione's smug one; and Dean and Ginny fighting over being helped through the portrait hole.

"It's been a very weird night, Ginny."

 

***

 

The next day, Harry tells Ron, Hermione, and I about his adventure last night (having first used Muffliato upon those around us); about how he just so happened to run into Slughorn on the way to Hagrid's and convinced him to come with him to Hagrid's for the funeral; how he had managed to convince a very drunk Slughorn to give him the memory; how Dumbledore had returned last night, so Harry went to see him and they viewed the memory together; about what Horcruxes actually are, which are objects that hold a piece of a person's soul so that they can never die, able to be made by killing someone; that they way to kill Voldemort is to first destroy all his Horcruxes, and that Dumbledore has agreed to take Harry with him to find Horcruxes if he finds out about another one. Needless to say, Ron, Hermione, and I are both extremely impressed and awed.

"Wow," says Ron, when Harry finishes speaking, waving his wand vaguely towards the ceiling without paying the slightest bit of attention to what he's actually doing. "Wow. You're actually going to go with Dumbledore... and try and destroy... wow."

"Ron, you're making it snow," Hermione says patiently, grabbing his wrist and redirecting his wand away from the ceiling from which, sure enough, large white flakes have started to fall. Lavender Brown, I notice from the corner of my eye, glares at Hermione from a nearby table through very red eyes, and Hermione immediately lets go of Ron; she may be pleased about the breakup, but she won't rub it in Lavender's face.

"Oh, yeah," Ron says, looking down at his shoulders in vague surprise. "Sorry... looks like we've all got horrible dandruff now..."

He brushes some fake snow off Hermione's shoulders. Lavender bursts into tears. Ron looks immensely guilty and turns his back on her.

"We split up," Ron informs Harry out of the corner of his mouth. "Last night. She saw Hermione and I coming out of the dormitory together. She saw Hazel, too, but she just assumed that she was covering for us."

"Ah," says Harry. "Well - you don't mind it's over, do you?"

"No," Ron admits. "It was pretty bad while she was yelling, but at least I didn't have to finish it."

"Coward," Hermione says, though she looks amused. "Well, it was a bad night for romance all around. Ginny and Dean split up, too, Harry." There's a knowing look in her eye as she says this, and I can't help but grin at the sight of it. I look round at Dean, who looks very unhappy indeed.

"How come?" Harry asks, in a would-be offhand voice.

"Oh, it was rather stupid, actually," I say. "She said he was always trying to help her through the portrait hole, like she couldn't climb through herself. But they've been rocky for ages. She said it was obvious that it was going to happen sooner or later."

"Of course, this puts you in a bit of a dilemma, doesn't it?" Hermione says.

"What d'you mean?" Harry says quickly.

"The Quidditch team," Hermione answers. "If Ginny and Dean aren't speaking..."

"Oh - oh, yeah," Harry nods.

 _Yeah, because that's what he's thinking about,_ I think.  _Quidditch._

"Flitwick," Ron says in a warning tone.

The tiny Charms master is bobbing his way towards us, and Harry and Ron have not yet managed to turn vinegar into wine; Hermione's and my flask are full of deep crimson liquid, whereas the contents of Harry's and Ron's flasks are still murky brown.

"Now, now," Flitwick squeaks reproachfully. "A little less talk, a little more action... let me see you try..."

Together they raise their wands, pointing them at their flasks. Harry's vinegar turns to ice; Ron's flask explodes.

"Yes... for homework," says Flitwick, reemerging from under the table and pulling shards of glass out of the top of his hat, "practice."

We have one of our rare joint free periods after Charms and walk back to the common room together. Ron seems positively lighthearted about the end of his relationship with Lavender, and Hermione's cheery, too, though if you ask her, she'll only tell you that "it's a nice day." Harry, on the other hand seems to be in a completely different world, though I can't exactly tell what's got him so lost in thought.

When we reach the common room, I see a group of seventh years clustered together in the middle of the room. For a moment, I'm confused as to why, until I see who's standing in the middle of the group.

"Katie!" I cry in delight, because it is Katie Bell standing there, looking perfectly healthy and surrounded by her jubilant friends. "You're back! Are you okay?"

"I'm really well!" she says happily. "They let me out of St. Mungo's on Monday, I had a couple of days with Mum and Dad, and then I came back here this morning. Leanne was just telling me about McLaggen and the last match, Harry..."

"Yeah," Harry says, "well, now you're back and Ron's fit, we'll have a decent chance of thrashing Ravenclaw, which means we could still be in the running for the Cup. Listen, Katie..." he drops his voice as Katie's friends start gathering their things; apparently they're late for Transfiguration. "... that necklace... can you remember who gave it to you now?"

"No," Katie answers, shaking her head ruefully. "Everybody's been asking me, but I haven't got a clue. The last thing I remember is walking into the ladies' room at the Three Broomsticks."

"You definitely went into the bathroom, then?" Hermione says.

"Well, I know I pushed open the door," Katie states, "so I suppose whoever Imperiused me was standing just behind the door. After that, my memory's blank until about two weeks ago at St. Mungo's. Listen, I'd better go, I wouldn't put it past McGonagall to give me lines even if it is my first day back..."

She picked up her bag and hurried after her friends, leaving Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I to sit down by a window and think over what she's just told us.

"So, it must have been a girl or a woman who gave Katie the necklace," Hermione says, "to be in the ladies' bathroom."

"Or someone who looked like a girl or a woman," Harry points out. "Don't forget, there was a cauldron of Polyjuice Potion at Hogwarts. We know some of it got stolen... I think I'm going to take another swig of Felix," he continues, "and have a go at the Room of Requirement again."

"That would be a complete waste of the potion," Hermione says flatly, putting down the copy of  _Spellman's Syllabary_ that she had just taken out of her bag. "Luck can only get you so far, Harry. The situation with Slughorn was different; you always had the ability to persuade him, you just needed to tweak the circumstances a bit. Luck isn't enough to get you through a powerful enchantment, though. Don't go wasting the rest of that potion! You'll need all the luck you can get if Dumbledore takes you along with him..." she drops her voice to a whisper.

"Couldn't we make some more?" Ron says, ignoring Hermione. "It'd be great to have a stock of it... have a look in the book..."

Harry pulls his copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ out of his bag and looks up Felix Felicis.

"Blimey, it's seriously complicated," he says, scanning the page. "And it takes six months... you've got to let it stew..."

"Typical," Ron says darkly.

I'd known in the back of my mind that it wouldn't be easy to brew up liquid luck, but I still can't help but feel disappointed. After all, I really could do with a bit of luck.


	21. Time Flies

**Distance Means Nothing**

**Chapter Twenty-One: Time Flies**

 

On Saturday morning, I wake up with a jittery sort of feeling in my stomach. I'd call them butterflies, if only butterflies were the size of Hippogriffs. I am slightly nervous about sneaking out, with security so much tighter these days, but I'm certain I can make it to Hogsmeade without being seen. Regardless, I get the Marauders' Map from Harry as a precaution, saying that I need it for a prank. I'm not sure why I can't just tell him about meeting with Fred, but something about it feels as though it should be kept a secret. Besides, I'm not necessarily  _lying_ ; I am planning on slipping the hair-colour changing potion I had made the other day in Potions, I just don't really need the Map for it.

I can't tell if the day goes by tortuously slow or impossibly fast, or maybe if it's taking turns between the two, but I find myself staring up at the canvas of my four-poster by the time eleven o'clock comes around, unable to help my impatience. I decide it's best to leave now, knowing how long it takes to get to Hogsmeade through the secret passageway. I carefully get out of bed, making sure to be silent as not to awake anyone else in the dormitory - particularly Hermione. I change from my pyjamas into jeans, a jumper, and my combat boots, throwing one of my robes on top. I grab my wand and take the Marauder's Map from the inside of my trunk.

I look around to make sure everyone is still fast asleep, before tapping the parchment with y wand and whispering, loudly as I dare, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

I scan the map, relieved to see that nobody is in the common room. I tiptoe out of the room, closing the door carefully behind me, and hurrying down to the common room. As I walk across the common room, I stare at the map, trying to figure out the best route to take to the one-eyed witch's statue. I realise I'll have to take the long way around, but I might be able to use a shortcut by the Charm's corridor and cut it a bit short...

"What are you doing out this late?" the Fat Lady demands, when I scramble through the portrait hole. "Don't you care about your life, these are dangerous times!"

"Don't you worry about me," I assure her. "I'll be back before you know it."

"You best hope you come back before I can report you!" she calls after me, her standard empty threat.

I move as quickly and quietly as I can, but I end up having to take several detours due to oncoming teachers or ghosts or Filch. In my excitement, I nearly get myself caught several times.

Once I finally reach the statue of the one-eyed witch, I tap the hump with my wand and mutter, " _Dissendium!_ "

I look around once more, scan the map, and after confirming that the coast is clear, I hoist myself up and lower myself through the hole, sliding down the slope onto the uneven, creaking boards. I leap to my feet, lighting my wand.

"Mischief Managed," I mutter, tapping the map again and shoving it in the pocket of my robes, before setting off down the passageway, where I have to keep slowing down, as I keep tripping and falling when I walk quickly, much to my annoyance.

What seems like ages later (but looking at my watch tells me it's been forty-five minutes), I reach the staircase. Climbing up them quickly as I can, I whisper, " _Nox!_ " as I reach the cellar of Honeydukes. Keeping my wand at the ready, I press my ear to the door, checking to see if anyone is in the store. I hear footsteps, and the owner of the shop, Ambrosius Flume.

"Really can't be too much to ask to have people put everything back where they found it, can it? No, it's not, it's not..."

I open the door enough to peer through, and see him with his back to the door of the cellar, so I slip through, closing the door gently behind me. I drop to my knees, crawling behind the cash register, before leaping to my feet behind one of the shelves. Sneaking behind shelves until I reach the door, I glance once more behind me to see that Ambrosius still has his back to me, and open the door just enough to slip through, closing it carefully behind me.

Now in the cool night air outside, I check my watch. With a little less than five minutes left, I jog over to the Shrieking Shack, pulling up my hood so nobody can look too closely at my face, keeping my wand at the ready. When I reach the fence that surrounds the shack, I slow to stop, pulling down my hood, and find Fred standing there.

My breath catches in my throat when I see him. He's leaning against the fence, staring up at the sky, his face illuminated by the moonlight. God, had I forgotten how good-looking he really is, or is the moonlight just making it clearer? He looks rather peaceful, so that I don't even want to make my presence known, not wanting to disturb him. I step on a branch as I walk slowly towards him, and the snapping makes his head snap forward, the moment over. I don't regret ending it, though, when he grins broadly at me.

"You're late," he says. "A whole minute, Knight, it's shameful - "

He never gets the change to finish his sentence, because I've thrown myself at him, flinging my arms around his neck and kissing him. I feel him smiling against my lips as he kisses me back, wrapping his arms around my waist and lifting me off the ground. He spins me around so that my back is against the fence, setting me back down on the ground and taking my face in his hands.

"Happy to see me?" he says, when we pull away.

"Don't be stupid," I retort, and pull him back to me.

When we pull away, he grabs my shoulders and stares at me, a smile tugging at his lips.

"I'm really glad I agreed to this," he murmurs fervently. "Really, really glad."

He kisses me again, tangling his fingers in my hair and biting down on my lower lip. Sighing blissfully against his lips, I grip onto the fabric of his robes and pull him closer to me.

"How are you?" I ask breathlessly between kisses.

"Really good now," he replies, moving down to kiss along my neck, "you?"

"Good - I'm - I'm good," I breathe.

I take his face in my hands and make him face me again, kissing him once more. When we pull away, I grin at him, a gesture he returns.

"See? This isn't so bad," I say, taking his hands in mine. "What were you so worried about?"

"You," he replies simply. "I was worried about you."

"Nothing's going to happen to me," I insist, half-laughing. "You know me, I'm good. I'm always good."

"Don't jinx it," he warns me, smiling and taking a step closer to me. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Knight. I really don't."

"And you'll never have to," I assure him. "I promise. Now stop worrying about it."

I sit down on top of the fence, gesturing for him to sit beside me. He does, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and bringing me closer to him, resting his head on top of mine.

"How's George?" I ask, taking his free hand in mine and tracing shapes along the back of it.

"He's good," he replies. "Doing really well, considering everything that's happening at Diagon Alley..." for a moment, Fred looks troubled, and I want to say something,  _anything_ , to make him feel better, but what do I say to make him feel better about the war raging right outside his door? So, instead, I give his hand a small squeeze, which seems to snap him out of it, because he gives his head a small shake, and says, "He says he's making some real progress with Angelina, but he's been saying that for months, so I'm not really sure if I believe him."

I laugh at that, thinking about all George has told me about his attempts to win Angelina over.

"I'll give him the benefit of the doubt," I state. "God knows the poor bloke needs someone who believes in him."

"Oh, I believe in  _him,_ " Fred says matter-of-factly, "just not in everything he's been telling me lately."

"How long do you think it'l take them to get together?" I ask him.

"Well," Fred says contemplatively, "they're both always really busy, so they don't get to see each other often, and Angelina was really hurt when George went to the Yule Ball with someone else, so she's making him work really hard for it, so... I'd give it a year - maybe two?"

"Really?" I ask, surprised by this. "I was thinking they'd be together within the year."

"No way," Fred says confidently. "You know George really well, but you don't know Angelina as well as I do. If she doesn't make him work for it for at  _least_ a year, I'll eat my own foot."

"Don't do that," I advise, grinning. "How about instead you give me five Galleons."

"Well, I would rather lose give Galleons than a foot," he concedes. "But what happens if they don't get together within the year?"

"Then I'll give you five Galleons," I reply simply. "I don't want to lose a foot, either, Weasley."

"That's settled, then," he says with a smile, holding his free hand out for me to shake.

"You're on," I say, taking his hand and shaking it.

"Ah, I can't wait for you to lose," he grins, sounding genuinely excited. "You're funny when you lose."

"Hey!" I protest, slapping his arm lightly.

"It's true," he says defensively. "If it helps, you're also adorable when you lose."

"It absolutely does  _not_ help," I inform him. "I'm going to make sure George and Angelina get together, and let's see how  _adorable_ you find me then!"

Fred stares at me with slightly raised eyebrows, then looks away, laughing.

"You are not helping your case right now, Knight."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I demand.

"It means you're even more adorable than usual right now," he replies, pulling me closer to him and squeezing my shoulders lightly.

"I am not adorable!" I protest, pushing him away from me, though his compliment melts my heart in ways that I don't care to admit.

"I beg to differ," he sings, pushing me back.

It turns into a bit of a wrestling match. The unfortunate part of this is that we both forget we're sitting on the fence and push too hard, causing us to fall backwards onto the ground. Yelping, I grip tightly onto Fred's robes, falling on top of him. We both start laughing when we land on the ground, holding onto each other still and grinning.

"The ghosts in there are probably so mad at us," I whisper, giggling and jerking my head in the direction of the Shrieking Shack.

"Oh, I bet," he agrees, turning his head toward the boarded-up building and calling, "SORRY, GHOSTS!"

Laughing and looking around quickly, I bring a finger to his lips to quiet him.

"The ghosts forgive you, but the people who live in the village won't," I say quietly, grinning.

"Good point," he concedes, as though this has only just now crossed his mind.

It's then that I realise that I'm still on top of him, so I roll off of him, laying beside him and resting my hand on his chest, my head on his shoulder.

"You know," I say conversationally, "I don't even want to get up right now. The ground is suiting me much better,"

"Then let's stay here," Fred says, as though it's the simplest thing in the world.

"You've always been a person of clever ideas," I state, though I shift slightly in my spot to get more comfortable, propping myself up on my elbows to get more comfortable.

"You know me, I'm a big thinker," Fred shrugs. "Kinda why this whole joke shop thing happened."

"You don't need to run a joke shop to be a big thinker," I point out.

"That's true," he agrees. "I mean, you're a big thinker, and here you are, wanting some boring Ministry job."

"Being an Auror is not boring!" I protest defensively. "You help stop Dark wizards, what's so boring about that?"

"It's not all hunting evil wizards, you know," Fred tells me matter-of-factly. "Dad told me that it's more paperwork than anything else. I wanted to be an Auror, too, until I found out about that."

"I know that," I say stubbornly. "But it's still cool. Besides, I've told you about a  _billion_ times that I don't know for sure what I want to do after school."

"But you've considered being an Auror more than anything else, haven't you?"

I don't answer immediately. Instead, I flop onto my back, let out an indignant huff, and then let out a reluctant, " _Maybe_."

Fred laughs, as though there's nothing funnier to him than my slight frustration - but, then again, considering the fact that it's Fred, it's probably true.

"Well, if you want my vote, you're going to end up being an Auror at some point," he says, with so much certainty that it surprises me.

"Why?" I say, masking my surprise with sarcasm. "Because you think I'm so boring?"

"Yes - no, I mean no!" he says, laughing when I punch him in the arm at his comment. "Come on, Knight, stop attacking me!"

Finally, I give in, resting my arms at my sides again and letting him laugh, clutching his arm where I'd punched him. I act like I'm not relishing in the sound of his laughter, memorising it so that I can think back on it when I start missing him so badly it hurts again.

"Now," he says, once he's calmed down, "if you'll let me explain myself without  _assaulting_ me... and don't roll your eyes at me, Knight, it's rude. Respect your elders."

"You're only two years older than me, you dick," I say, making it a point to roll my eyes very obviously at him. "And don't say you're my elder. You're my boyfriend. It's weird."

"Fair enough," he shrugs. "But, anyway, the reason why I'm so convinced that you're going to end up being an Auror, even for a while, is because you want to fight the bad guys. It's just how you are -  _who_ you are. It's how you've always been, ever since I met you. If you don't fight the bad guys, you rebel against them. You never just sit there and let it happen. You _can't_."

"Loads of people are like that," I say, rather embarrassed by his words. "You and George are like that, but you're not exactly Aurors, are you?"

"That's different," Fred says, with patience in his tone that surprises me. "George and I rebel and fight and all, and as long as there are dark wizards, we plan on doing that until we die, but it's different with us. We have this joke shop so that, even if we fail, we can make sure that people still laugh, so that it's not totally miserable. In a way, it is still rebelling, but it's different from you. You want to take the bad guys out, you want them gone, and you won't rest until you've had a hand in helping get rid of them. You can't relax unless you're doing something to stop it, that's how you are. Maybe it's because you've always known bad guys since day one, with your aunt and uncle, but I know for sure that being an Auror all but calls to you. You want to get rid of the bad guys."

I'm silent for a very long time after he finishes, mostly just too surprised to speak. I knew Fred knew me, but when you think about how someone knows you, you think about how they know about your family and your favourite colour and your hobbies and your friends. You never think about how they might actually know you, think about you more deeply than you could even imagine. I'm so busy thinking about Fred all the time and thinking about how much I like him, that I never stop to think about how he might be doing the exact same thing about me.

"That's," I finally manage to say, "that's - erm - pretty spot on, I think."

Fred grins. "I'm telling you, Knight, I know you."

No kidding, I think, but instead say, turning over onto my stomach and saying, "So, is it my turn to psychoanalyse you?"

"No," Fred says, grinning. "Let's stay far away from the inner workings of my mind."

"Well, that's not fair," I say, whining dramatically and pouting. "We have to even the score!"

"You're keeping score?" Fred raises an eyebrow.

"I am now."

"Oh, fine, then, go on," he says, rolling his eyes.

"Let's see," I say contemplatively, taking one of his hands in both of mine and smiling vaguely. "I think that you don't just use humour to comfort other people, but yourself, too. I think joking about something helps you get a grip on it, helps you face it. Laughter makes everything easier to deal with, and in your hands it's a bloody weapon. You can protect yourself, make people and yourself feel better, or bring Voldemort himself down a peg or two. You know that, and you use that, and it helps that you're really good at it. I think that you've figured that as long as you can laugh in the face of whatever comes your way, no matter how awful it is, it'll be okay and you'll get through it. And that's what you do, and that's what you'll always do."

Fred's quiet for a moment, before turning to me and deadpanning, "No. That's absolutely not it. It's like you don't even know me at all."

"Shut up," I say, punching him lightly.

"Hey!" he protests, rubbing his arm. "Clearly, you don't need me to tell you that you're right."

"You're right," I agree solemnly, "I don't, but it's still nice to hear."

"You and your ego, Knight," Fred scolds me mockingly. "I swear, it's getting out of hand. Bigger then all of Hogwarts castle - which, for the record, you should be getting back to right about now."

"Oh, don't be boring, I've got plenty of time," I say, whining. "It's only - " I glance at my watch - "ten past one."

"Which means we've already spent too much time here," Fred says, sitting up. I stay lying down, looking at him with a sigh. "Why does time always go by so quickly when I'm with you, Knight? You've got a magic all your own."

"Time flies when you're having fun?" I suggest, smiling slightly and shrugging, propping myself up on my elbows.

"I haven't had nearly enough fun with you," Fred says, pauses, then says, "That was less suggestive in my head."

I let out a laugh at that, lying back down and saying, "If you haven't had enough fun, then let's just stay here until we have. I'd hate to leave you unsatisfied."

"You're just making this sound more suggestive."

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Weasley," I laugh, tugging him back down to me.

Smiling, he leans down and kisses me, taking my face in his hands. He kisses me slowly, slowly enough for me to find it hard to believe that time could ever fly by, but then quickly enough for me to understand exactly what he means. I grip tightly onto his shoulders, as though frightened of what might happen if I let him go. Terrible, horrible things, surely...

"See?" I breathe when we pull away. "No need to go anywhere."

"Don't tempt me," he says, moving away from me and sitting back up.

"But it's so easy," I say, grinning, though I sit up myself.

"Shut up," he says, getting to his feet and dusting off his robes idly, sticking out his hands to help me up.

"Oh, I don't know how I'm ever going to recover from that one," I say sarcastically, holding onto his hands and pulling myself up.

We walk through the streets of Hogsmeade together, Fred with his arm around my shoulders as we walk. I almost pretend that it's the previous year, so I can act like we're not going to part ways at the passageway, but then decide against it. Best not to make my disappointment later even worse. Once at Honeydukes, we peer through the windows into the darkened shop.

"Okay, I don't think he's in there," Fred says under his breath, squinting into the window. "But we should just Apparate right in the secret passageway, just in case he's in the storage room. You've Apparated before, right?" he adds, looking over at me.

"Yeah," I say. "Don't worry, I won't vomit all over you. Though I nearly did that to your dad... it was horrible."

"Spare me the details," Fred grins, holding out his arm.

Smiling slightly, I take it, bracing myself. Fred, in a casual manner that nearly borders on arrogance, twists on the spot, so that I have to tighten my grip, and then everything goes black. After I stop feeling suffocated and feel my feet plant on solid ground, letting go of Fred's arm, I note that we're still plunged into darkness. For a moment, I think stupidly that something has gone horrible wrong and we're now stuck in some voice for the rest of our lives - until I remember that the passageway is dark. Feeling ashamed for the thought, I dig out my wand and light it, squinting momentarily at the dazzling light. I see Fred's face, illuminated by the light, who quickly follows suit.

"I suppose this is it, then," Fred says, once both of our wands are lit. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all."

"Why not?" I say, frowning.

"Because it's just gotten extremely difficult to say goodbye to you."

I smile weakly at the comment, though I feel a sinking feeling of my chest, since I know exactly how he's feeling.

"I'll start," I say bracingly. "Goodbye, Weasley. I'll see you soon."

"Goodbye, Knight," he says, with a small smile.

He kisses my forehead, at the same moment that I remember something very important.

"Hey, you know that potion that changes people's hair colour, and we never tried rainbow because we didn't think it'd work?" I say. When he nods, I continue. "It does work. I tried it out on Zacharias Smith. Works like a charm. I even have the rest of the sample if you don't believe me," I dig through the pocket of my robe and pull out a flask with the potion, still half full. "Feel free to do what you like with that."

Fred looks at me with something rather close to awe in his eyes, a smile spreading slowly across his face. "Are you joking?"

"Nope," I reply matter-of-factly.

"Merlin, you're brilliant," he says fervently, pulling me to him abruptly and kissing me, nearly lifting me off the ground. Laughing slightly, I kiss him back happily, wrapping my arms around his neck. We kiss for a long time, a sort of desperation to it after a while, knowing that it will be a long time before we can do it again.

"You definitely don't seem to regret this anymore," I say when we pull away, grinning.

"Don't be thick," he says. "I never regretted it."

I realise that I'm grinning like a complete idiot, but I'm far too happy to bother to stop myself. I'm unusually happy considering that I'm saying goodbye, but I suppose that's just the effect Fred has. I go up on tiptoe and kiss him once more, gently, far too quickly.

"I'll see you soon, Fred," I say, my heels touching the ground again.

"Yeah, you will," he agrees, nodding and stuffing his free hand in his pocket. "Maybe even sooner than you think, with the way things tend to work out."

I smile, linger for as long as possible before the time to leave finally comes. I wave, turn around and start heading down the passageway the way I came. A few seconds later, I hear the familiar _crack_ associated with Disapparition and, even though I know he won't be there, turn around and point my wand at the spot from which Fred had disappeared. Even though I miss him already, I smile slightly. There might be a million and one terrible things happening, but Fred and I are okay, and we will continue to be throughout this mess, and at the moment, that fact alone meant the world to me.


	22. The Replacement Captain

**Distance Means Nothing**

**Chapter Twenty-Two: The Replacement Captain**

 

The only one who appears to be unhappy about Katie Bell's return is Dean Thomas, because it means that he's no longer required to fill her place as Chaser. According to Harry, he takes the blow stoically enough when Harry told him that he wouldn't be needed on the team anymore, doing nothing but grunting and shrugging, but at times I'm certain I can hear Dean and Seamus talking mutinously about Harry behind his back.

I'd feel worse for Dean if it wasn't for the fact that the following fortnight sees the best Quidditch practices of the year. The team is so glad McLaggen is gone, so glad to finally have Katie back, that we all fly extremely well. I know Ginny is still bothered by her breakup with Dean, but she's very good at making it seem otherwise, taking up the position of the life and soul of the team. She imitates Ron anxiously bobbing up and down in front of the goal posts as the Quaffle speeds towards him, and Harry bellowing orders at McLaggen before being knocked out, keeping all of us highly amused.

Though Ginny's behaviour distracts us all, it distracts no one as much as Harry, who receives several more Bludger injuries during practices because he's keeping his eyes on her instead of what's going on around him. His main problem seems to be the fact that not only has Ginny just gotten out of a break up, but she's Ron's sister, and he can't exactly get approval from Ron after his breakup with Lavender. He especially can't get approval from Ron with the final game of the Quidditch season drawing ever nearer and Ron wanting to talk about nothing but Quidditch tactics.

Ron, however, isn't alone in this aspect. Interest in the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw game is running high throughout the school, as this match would decide the Championship, which is still wide open. If Gryffindor can beat Ravenclaw by at least three hundred points (a very high minimum, but we  _have_ been flying well), then we win the Cup. If we win by less than three hundred points, we come second to Ravenclaw. If we lose by a hundred points we come third behind Hufflepuff, and if we lose by more than a hundred points, we come in last place, Gryffindor's first bottom-of-the-table defeat in two centuries.

The run-up to this match has all the usual features: members of rival houses attempting to intimidate opposing teams in the corridors; unpleasant chants about individual team members being rehearsed loudly as they pass; the team members either strutting around in enjoyment of the attention or dashing into bathrooms between classes to throw up. Far too used to matches like this to do either, I continue with my daily life as best as I can. Which, admittedly, is a lot harder than one would think, due to the constant nerves and stress, not to mention the pressure that comes from other members of your house, who are counting on you to not screw everything up.

"Look, I've bet this git from Ravenclaw five Galleons that we'd win, so we've got to win this," a Gryffindor fourth year I've never spoken to before tells me. "I haven't got five Galleons to give him, so don't mess this one up. No pressure."

Right. No pressure.

Jace and Devon both find this extremely funny when I tell them about it one day while we walk back from dinner together.

"He really said no pressure afterwards, as if that would fix anything?" Devon says disbelievingly, laughing.

"Yes," I say indignantly. "And I don't even know how I'm supposed to function now. How am I supposed to fulfil my normal Chaser duties while thinking about this idiot who bet a bloke he hates five Galleons he doesn't have?"

"I wonder who the guy he hates is," Jace wonders aloud. "I bet it's Evan Nelson, the bloke we pranked a while back. Who wouldn't hate that guy?"

"Jace, just because you hate someone doesn't mean the whole world does," Devon says, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, but it does mean that the whole world  _should_ hate him," Jace retorts. "He's the worst, why _would_ you like him?"

"Actually, now that you mention it, Ron and Hermione have met him and they hate him, too," I say fairly.

"See! Nobody likes Evan Nelson!" Jace says triumphantly. "Well, except for Evan Nelson, anyway."

"Way to go," Devon says, rolling his eyes at me. "You've only encouraged him."

"In any case," Jace says pointedly, shoving Devon, "sorry, Hazel, I'd support you more, but my priorities are with Ravenclaw, not Gryffindor."

"Same here," says Devon solemnly.

"Fair enough," I say, shrugging. "I don't exactly want Ravenclaw to win, either."

"Glad we're on the same page," Jace says cheerfully.

After that, we part ways: Jace and Devon for Ravenclaw tower, me for Gryffindor tower. When I crawl through the portrait hole and into the common room, I look around, trying to find Harry, Ron, and Hermione. I find them sitting together in the armchairs by the fire, along with Ginny. I frown slightly when I realise how grim they all look. I walk towards them, curious.

"What's up?" I ask serenely, flopping into the only empty armchair.

They all only look at me. It occurs to me that a lot more is up than I had originally thought. Not only do they look grim, but they look tense, even angry. But at  _what?_ What could have happened?

"Is someone going to tell me what's up, or will I have to try and guess from the looks on your faces?" I ask, raising my eyebrows. "I am pretty good at guessing, I will do it..."

"I ought to tell you," Harry says, sighing.

And so he does. He tells me the whole story of meeting Malfoy in a bathroom, where he was crying to Moaning Myrtle. He tells me about the fight that broke out, where Malfoy nearly used the Cruciatus Curse on Harry, so in a moment of desperation, Harry used the first curse he could think of to defend himself: Sectumsempra, that curse in the Half-Blood Prince's book that he's been wondering about for ages. As it turns out, when the Prince said that it was for enemies, he  _meant_ that it was for enemies. Blood spilled from Malfoy's chest and face as if Harry had cut him open a million times with some invisible sword. Moaning Myrtle, who had still been there, had screamed that there was a murder in the bathroom, and in came, of all people, Snape. Ignoring Harry's excuses and even ignoring Malfoy to an extent, Snape demanded to know where Harry had learned such a spell and made him go get all of his schoolbooks to show him. Panicked about showing Snape the Half-Blood Prince's book, Harry hid his book in the Room of Requirement and used Ron's book instead. Snape had found nothing extremely suspicious, but still gave Harry a detention every Saturday for the rest of the term.

Under my horror and shock at what I've just been told, I can't help but feel angry, both at Snape and at Harry. Every Saturday for the rest of the term... including the Quidditch match. Ginny will replace Harry as Seeker, and Dean will rejoin the team as Chaser. But what are the chances of us winning the Cup without a captain?

"I'm surprised you haven't heard about it," Harry says dully, having finished his story. "Apparently it's all over the school already."

"How?" I ask, surprised.

This time, it's Hermione, Ron, and Ginny who inform me of how. Apparently, Moaning Myrtle has taken it upon herself to pop into every single bathroom in the castle to tell the tale to anyone who would listen; Malfoy has already been visited in the hospital wing by Pansy Parkinson, who of course has wasted no time in vilifying Harry far and wide; and Snape has told the staff precisely what has happened. Harry informs me that he's already been pulled out of the common room to spend fifteen extremely unpleasant minutes in McGonagall's company, where she tells him that he's lucky that he has not been expelled and that she wholeheartedly supports Snape's punishment of a detention every Saturday until the end of term.

"I told you there was something wrong with that Prince person," Hermione says, clearly unable to stop herself even at a time like this. "And I was right, wasn't I?"

"No, I don't think you were," Harry says stubbornly.

"Harry," says Hermione, "how can you still stick up for that book when that spell - "

"Will you stop harping on about that book!" Harry snaps. "The Prince only copied it out! It's not like he was advising anybody to use it! For all we know, he was making a note of something that had been used on him!"

"I don't believe this," Hermione says. "You're actually defending - "

"I'm not defending what I did!" Harry says quickly. "I wish I hadn't done it, and not just because I've got about a dozen detentions. You know I wouldn't have used a spell like that, not even on Malfoy, but you can't blame it on the Prince, it's not like he'd written 'try this out, it's really good' - he was just making notes for himself, wasn't he, not for anyone else..."

"Are you telling me," Hermione says, "that you're going to go back -?"

"And get the book? Yeah, I am," Harry replies forcefully. "Listen, without the Prince I'd have never won the Felix Felicis. I'd never have known how to save Ron from the poison, I'd never have - "

" - got a reputation for Potions brilliance that you don't deserve," Hermione says nastily.

"Give it a rest, Hermione!" Ginny suddenly says, surprising me. "By the sound of it, Malfoy was trying to use an Unforgivable Curse, you should be glad Harry had something good up his sleeve!"

"Well, of course I'm glad Harry wasn't cursed!" Hermione says, clearly stung. "But you can't call Sectumsempra a good spell, look where it's landed him! And I'd have thought, seeing what this has done to your chances in the match - "

"Oh, don't start acting like you understand Quidditch," Ginny snaps, "you'll only embarrass yourself."

I look between the two of them, glaring at each other with their arms crossed. I look over at Harry and Ron, who are staring at them in shock. It occurs to me that neither of them have ever actually seen Ginny and Hermione disagree on anything. It's nothing new to me, though, so I don't quite feel as nervous as Ron, who hurriedly picks up a book and hides behind it. Harry, on the other hand, looks quite pleased. I suppose being defended by Ginny has raised his spirits. I can't feel much of anything, however, imagining Malfoy so injured and thinking about the upcoming match and how much worse our chances have just become.

 

***

 

Hermione and Ginny's fight is nothing compared to the reactions of the school. The Slytherins, of course, waste no time in taunting Harry every chance they get. The worst, however, are the Gryffindors who are most unhappy that their captain had managed to get himself banned from the final match of the season. The spirits of the Quidditch team have also plummeted greatly, and I'm sure some of them think, if only privately, that our chances of winning have become very slim indeed. The only bright side to this fact is the fact that at least the team's spirits aren't quite as low as they were last year. As long as it's not the same attitude as last year, I can work with it...

The day before the match, Harry pulls me aside to talk to me.

"What's up?" I ask, crossing my arms and leaning against the wall.

"I want you to take my place in the team," he says. "You know, for the match."

I blink.

"Er - Ginny's doing that, remember?" I say slowly. "And I'm not really inclined to take her place, I'm not much of a Seeker - "

"No, not like that," he says quickly. "I mean... I want you to take my place in the team as - as captain."

Stunned, I stare at him for a long moment, unable to form words. Finally, I say, "Me? I don't really think - "

"Well, I do," he says bluntly. "You held the team together last year when things got hard. you did a better job of it than Angelina, and that's just the truth.  _You're_ the reason we won. If you could do it last year, you can do it now. I'm sure of it. And they  _need_ someone to hold it together, after what's happened."

I bite down on my lip, flattered and embarrassed but still hesitant.

"Harry, I don't know - "

"Look, someone has to do it, and I'm sure you can," he insists. "So, please. Just be that person."

Finally, I let out a sigh and nod.

"Fine," I say. "But only because some bloke in fourth year's bet five Galleons that he doesn't have on us. I don't want to let that guy down."

Harry has no idea what I'm talking about, but he does understand that I've said yes, so he smiles, and weakly, I return the action.

 

***

 

The next morning, I walk into the common room with Harry, Ron, and Hermione, clad in my scarlet Quidditch uniform and feeling more nervous than I have in a long time. If I feel nervous, it's nothing compared to how Ron looks, as he appears to be ready to throw up on his own uniform at any moment.

We walk into the Great Hall to applause from the Gryffindor table and boos and hisses from the Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables. The Hufflepuffs are divided, half of them cheering for us, the rest of them booing and hissing with the Ravenclaws and Slytherins. I look to Ron, jhoping that the applause will help with his nerves, but it seems he's only focusing on the booing from the others. Slightly disgruntled but unsurprised, I put an arm around him and suggest that he eats to help his strength.

When we actually sit down, though, Ron doesn't touch anything, and I give up on getting him to eat after a few attempts. I can hardly blame him, since in my nerves, the toast I'm chewing on feels like cardboard. Eventually, when I realise that the entire team is hardly eating, I get to my feet and tell them that we ought to get to the pitch to get a look at conditions. They all nod silently and get to their feet, picking up their brooms.

People wish us good luck as we get to our feet, and we nod and smile at them, thanking them.

"Good luck," Harry says to me quietly.

I look down and smile faintly. I know he wishes he could walk down to the pitch with us, wishes that I wasn't in his place right now, wishes he had never cursed Malfoy in the first place, even without the punishment that he has received, but he is trying his best to be positive to me and to the others.

"Thanks," I say. "You too."

Together, we walk out of the Great Hall and out of the castle to the Quidditch pitch. I walk around the pitch, the team following behind me silently. I don't like the feeling of being watched so closely, being examined, being expected to do everything right. Harry says I was good at leading and holding the team together last year, but he seems to have forgotten the months of struggle and lack of success we went through first. He doesn't realise that I wasn't officially the captain, all I did was help behind the scenes. I never really led anybody. I'm not cut out for this. But it's too late to do anything about it, so as I walk around, I give a report of the conditions and what it means for us, albeit awkwardly.

"So, it's bright and sunny, but not so bright that it'll cause visibility conditions, so that's good," I announce. "I mean, you still shouldn't stare directly into the sun or fly too high or anything like that, but... er - the ground's not too hard, so make sure to kick off really hard in the beginning, okay? It's a bit windy, but it's not too bad... just watch out for it in case it gets worse, yeah? It might mess up your flying or your aim. And - "

The sound of hundreds of sets of footprints and loud voices approaching cuts me off. The rest of the school is coming to watch the match.

"Let's go to the change-rooms," I say quietly.

As Ginny and Dean pull on their Quidditch boots and Jimmy and Demelza get their Beater's Bats, I walk up and down the change-room, trying to think of something to say to the team as a whole, something to inspire them, to get them to pull through even without Harry. When nothing comes to my head, it becomes even more clear that leading like this is just not something for which I'm made. Soon, though, the whole team is sitting down and waiting for me to say something, and I just decide to wing it. I stop pacing in the middle of the change-room, and look around at all of them.

"Right," I say, my voice oddly high-pitched, and I quickly clear my throat. "Right," I say again, and I'm pleased to hear that my voice has gone back to its normal pitch. "Right, look, you lot, I know we're dealing with a big obstacle right now, with Harry suddenly unable to be in the match, and that it's not the easiest thing to deal with on such short notice, but - but that doesn't mean it's the end for us, alright? We've been flying so well for so long, and that fact doesn't just go away because Harry's gone, alright? We're still brilliant. Ginny, I know you're a bit out of practice as a Seeker, but if you're anywhere near as fantastic as you were last year, then we've got nothing to worry about. After all, you beat Cho Chang once, who's to say you can't do it again?"

"Ah, shut up, Hazel," Ginny says, though she's smiling gratefully. "You do have a point, though."

"Of course I do," I say, with more confidence than I'm actually feeling. "Dean, you've only been gone for a couple of weeks. There's no reason to think that you won't be able to do as brilliantly as you did before."

"Thanks, Hazel," says Dean, looking down and looking rather embarrassed by my praise.

"I'm only saying the truth," I say merrily. "Katie, you've been on the team for ages, and it's not for no reason. It's because you're a bloody fantastic Chaser. You always have been."

"Thanks," says Katie, smiling sheepishly. "Sometimes it did feel like I was just here because you lot liked me."

"Well, now you know that that's definitely not why - not that we don't like you," I inform her. "Jimmy, Demelza, you're both amazing Beaters. If I was on the Ravenclaw team, I'd be scared."

Jimmy grins from ear to ear at my praise, and Demelza turns a brilliant shade of pink, looking down at her Quidditch boots. Both of them thank me.

"And Ron, you're an excellent Keeper. The Gryffindors didn't make that new version of  _Weasley is our King_ for nothing."

Ron turns redder than Demelza. He says nothing, only nods at me, but I know Ron well enough to take it as a very meaningful thank you. I nod back at him.

"And there's you," a still slightly pink Demelza points out, smiling.

I stare at her for a moment, slightly surprised. I'm not quite sure if I'm more surprised at the fact that I genuinely forgot myself, or at the fact that Demelza reminded me of myself.

"Right," I say, "and there's me. Well, I've been doing this for ages, so I've got to be decent by now. Don't you guys see? We can win this thing. So let's go out there and do it, yeah?"

"Yeah," they chorus enthusiastically, getting to their feet and picking up their brooms.

I lead them out of the change-rooms and onto the pitch to a storm of noise, relieved that I've had a good impact on the team. The Ravenclaw team is already standing, waiting for us. We line up opposite them, all of us trying not to let our nerves show through on our faces.

"Captains, shake hands," says Madam Hooch.

It takes me several moments to realise that she's talking to me and quickly hurry forward to shake the hand of the Ravenclaw captain, Roger Davies. When he tries to crush my hand with his own, I remember the tactic Candy had once taught me. I can even hear her voice: " _All you have to do is apply the right amount of pressure in just the right places..._ "

That is precisely what I do, and to my amazement, Roger Davies winces visibly. Trying not to look too pleased with myself, I let go and step back.

"Mount your brooms," Madam Hooch says.

We all obey her order. When she blows her whistle, we all take off into the air. I grab hold of the Quaffle immediately, swerve out of Roger Davies' way, and start zooming over to the goalposts. I dodge a Bludger, but the distraction causes one of the Ravenclaw Chasers, Richard Chambers, to grab the Quaffle from me.

"And now Richard Chambers has the Quaffle - not a surprise, many have been saying that Knight's abilities have been becoming worse all year..." says Zacharias Smith, his voice magically magnified, as he has not returned to his position as commentator.

 _I miss Luna,_ I think irritably, trying to catch up with Chambers.

A well-aimed Bludger from Demelza blocks the Quaffle right out of his hands, and Dean quickly catches it. He passes it to me, and I pass it to Katie. As she's close to the goalpost, she flies towards it and shoots. The Ravenclaw Keeper, Abby Grant, however, intercepts it and passes it to Davies. As he's close enough to make, I take it from him and pass it back to Katie. She feints, making it seem like she's going to throw it through the middle hoop, before throwing it through the left hoop. Grant falls for it, and the Quaffle goes straight through the left hoop. The Gryffindor end of the stands cheer and applaud loudly, and the knot in my stomach becomes slightly more loose. We're not off to a bad start.

However, the knot tightens again when Ravenclaw scores three goals. Smith's commentary insisting that nobody can really be surprised by Ravenclaw pulling ahead, makes it all the worse. Right, it's time to change this. I grab the Quaffle from Roger Davies, dodging a Bludger and flying for the goalposts. I pass it to Dean, who passes to Katie, who passes back to me, and I shoot it straight through the right hoop. Grant attempts to pass it to Chambers, but Dean intercepts it, throwing it to Katie, who passes to me. I pass it to Dean, who shoots it through the left hoop. The team morale improves after that, and we manage to score another three times, bringing the score to sixty to thirty.

The Ravenclaw Chasers manage to take control of the Quaffle again, scoring twice more. However, when another Ravenclaw Chaser, Harrison Rosen, attempts to score for the third time, Ron manages to intercept. The Gryffindor end of the stands explodes in applause, and a few rounds of the improved version of _Weasley is our King_ is sung.

" _Anyway,_ Dean Thomas has got the Quaffle," Smith is saying, irritably bringing the singing to an end. "He passes to Katie Bell, but Harrison Rosen intercepts, and now he's flying towards the goalposts. He's about to shoot, and - he gets hit by a Bludger aimed by Jimmy Peakes. A bit of an amateur, really, but still nicely aimed... he drops the Quaffle and Hazel Knight of Gryffindor catches it, and she's off... really rather overrated in terms of talent, it shouldn't be too hard to take the Quaffle from her - "

"Smith!" says McGonagall. "It's your job to simply relay the actions of the match, not to give such negative assessments of the players!"

 _You go, McGonagall,_ I think, zooming down the pitch to the Ravenclaw goalposts.

When I see Rosen trying to take the Quaffle from me, I pass to Katie. She flies to the goalposts, then makes it seem like she's going to shoot, then passes to me at the last second. Before Grant can realise what's happened, I shoot, and the Quaffle flies clean through the middle hoop. Grant passes the Quaffle to Chambers, but Katie grabs it from him before he can fly away. Katie passes to Dean, who passes to me. I pass to Katie, who passes once more to Dean, who shoots the Quaffle through the hoop. Eighty to fifty.

"And the Seekers on both sides are still circling the pitch above everyone else, searching for the Snitch," Smith says. "Cho Chang of Ravenclaw pauses - has she seen the Snitch?" Everything in the stadium seems to go still, everyone holding their breath and looking at a suddenly stationary Cho. But then she starts flying again and Smith is saying, "No, apparently not, she's back to flying as normal..."

I let out a relieved sigh. It suddenly hits me that all Cho needs to do is find the Snitch right away and it's over... we'd lose. I look over at Ginny and reassure myself of her abilities. What I said in the change-rooms weren't just words, after all. I meant it. Ginny is brilliant. She'll make sure we win.

"And it's Roger Davies with the Quaffle," Smith says, snapping me out of my reverie. "And Knight is seemingly doing nothing about it. Is this some sort of strange Gryffindor tactic? We may never know."

There's a great deal of laughter from all sides of the stands. I look ahead and see Roger Davies flying towards the Gryffindor goalposts. Ashamed and embarrassed and angry, I zoom forward, desperately trying to catch up, but by the time I do, it's too late. Roger Davies shoots. I bite my lip, hoping Ron will catch it, but he doesn't. The Quaffle flies through the right hoop.

Desperate to make up for my mistake, I catch the Quaffle Ron throws to me, and fly down the pitch. I dodge a Bludger, swerve around Rosen, and pass the Quaffle to Katie. Katie flies forward, before passing to Dean. Dean passes to me and I shoot, and I'm relieved to see the Quaffle fly straight throw the left hoop. After that, Gryffindor scores another three points.

Before I can score another point for Gryffindor, however, Chambers takes the Quaffle and flies down the pitch. He passes to Davies, who passes to Rosen, who passes it back to Chambers, who shoots. Ron, however, intercepts it and catches it. I let out a sigh of relief, hurrying forward. As Katie catches the Quaffle, however, Davies flies forward and knocks into her, forcing her to drop the Quaffle. Furious screams sound from the Gryffindor end of the stands as Rosen catches the Quaffle. Beside myself at the deliberate move, I look furiously to Madam Hooch, who, sure enough, blows the whistle. While she calls for a foul, I hurry over to Katie to make sure she's okay.

"You alright?" I ask her, glowering momentarily at Davies.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she insists. "Don't worry about it. It was a dick move, but it didn't hurt."

Dean takes the foul shot, and he shoots the Quaffle clean through the left hoop. One hundred and twenty to sixty. Ravenclaw scores another three points, but we score another three points, bringing the score up to one hundred and fifty to ninety. After that, it seems like Gryffindor can do no wrong. It's almost as if we're getting revenge for that horrible move Davies made, because we score goal after goal; Jimmy and Demelza's aim becomes even better than usual, and Ron saves nearly every shot the Ravenclaws make. Soon, the score becomes two hundred and twenty to one hundred.

"Gryffindor's really pulling ahead, but Davues has got the Quaffle, and he looks ready to even out the score a bit..." Smith is saying. "He shoots and - and - Weasley intercepts..."

"Don't sound so disappointed, Smith," I mutter, though I'm grinning.

Katie, Dean, and I make a silent resolution to double any amount of scores in a row that they get. When they score one goal, we score two. When they score two, we score four goals, bringing the score to two hundred and eighty to one hundred and thirty. My grip on my broomstick tightens when I realise this. If Ginny were to catch the Snitch now, we'd win, but only just... if Ravenclaw scores even one goal, it'd be ruined...

In attempt to prevent this from happening, I grab the Quaffle from Chambers and start flying toward the Ravenclaw goalposts. Before I can get too far, however, a Bludger hits me in the arm, forcing me to drop the Quaffle. Dean, however, had been flying below me and catches it before one of the Ravenclaw Chasers can. He flies ahead, passing the Quaffle to Katie, who passes back to Dean. Dean feints, making it seem like he's going to shoot through the right hoop, but then passes to Katie at the last second, who throws it quickly through the left hoop.

After that, I catch up to them just as Katie grabs the Quaffle from Davies, who had received the Quaffle from Grant. Katie passes to Dean, who passes to me, and I shoot it through the hoop, bringing the score to three hundred to one hundred and thirty. The Ravenclaws, evidently, are furious to be losing by so much.

Rosen grabs hold of the Quaffle and speeds down the pitch, but he, along with everyone else, stops immediately when Smith cries, "Cho Chang has gone into a dive! Has she seen the - yes, yes she has! There it is!"

I whip around to look at Cho, then Ginny, who suddenly pulls into a dive, evidently having seen what she had missed before.

"And Ginny's followed behind her, but she's ages behind, will she be able to catch up?" Smith says. "Doesn't seem like it to me..."

"Come on, Ginny," I mutter desperately.

I then snap out of my reverie, grabbing the Quaffle from Rosen while he's distracted. At this, all of the Chasers seem to come back to life. Chambers takes the Quaffle from me and starts flying down the pitch. Katie flies beside him, trying to grab the Quaffle from him, but Chambers throws it to Davies. I catch up to Davies, but he throws the Quaffle through the left hoop, and Ron doesn't manage to intercept it.

It doesn't matter, though, because then Smith is saying, "She's caught it! She's caught the Snitch!"

I whip around to see who Smith means by 'she.' I see Ginny pulling out of her dive, raising a fist. In her hands, I squint and see, to my utter delight, that she's clutching onto the golden Snitch. Ginny has caught the Snitch, bringing the final score to four hundred and fifty to one hundred and forty. We won. By three hundred and ten points. Not only did we win the match, we won the Cup. I let out a cry of delight, far too pleased to care, and fly over quickly to her. I'm the first to reach her, and I fling my arms around her in a hug, nearly sending us both off of our brooms.

"YOU DID IT!" I cry happily. "YOU DID IT! WE DID IT! WE WON!"

The rest of the team reaches us and we all find ourselves in a many-armed hug as we descent slowly to the ground. People from the Gryffindor end of the stands race down to meet us and start surrounding us. It's a storm of noise, of cheering and celebration. I have the feeling of being surrounded, and normally that'd make me feel claustrophobic, but today I'm too happy to care.

Finally, we break away to congratulate each other personally. I hug Ginny another time, before breaking away to hug Katie.

"Not a bad win for your final year, yeah?" I ask her, grinning.

"Definitely not bad!" she agrees enthusiastically, beaming.

I turn to Demelza and hug her.

"WE WON!" she shrieks happily. "WE DID IT!"

"I knew you'd do great!" I tell her, beaming. "Now look at us! We won! We won the Cup!"

I turn and high five Jimmy, before hugging him, congratulating him one more on how well he did.

"You did great, too! You're the one who led us into victory!" Jimmy points out, grinning. "Give yourself some credit!"

I smile sheepishly, flattered, surprised, and embarrassed by his praise. I turn to Dean, high-fiving him and doing a mini celebration dance with him. After we finish looking like fools, I turn away from him, laughing, and fling my arms around Ron.

"You did so well!" I say happily.

"SO DID YOU!" he shouts, too happy to keep his voice down, it seems. "WE WON! WE'VE WON!"

Together, as a team, we make our way through the crowds to the stands, where Dumbledore is holding the Cup with his good hand, beaming down at us. We all line up, and he hands it to us one by one, each of us getting a turn to hold it up triumphantly. I get it last, and hold it high above my head with both hands, grinning from ear to ear. Ron, who held it up before me, looks over at me and beams, a gesture I return. When we get off the stands, with me still holding the Cup, the team links arms and leads the way off the pitch toward the castle, still in our Quidditch robes, where a party will no doubt ensue. The rest of the Gryffindors follow behind us, still shouting and cheering.

It doesn't take long for the party in the common room to be in full swing. I offered to get some food from the kitchens, but as it is, Jimmy isn't the only one who thinks I led the Gryffindors into victory, and I've somehow found myself at the centre of all the celebrations. You can't leave a party if you're the centre of it, even for a few minutes. So I tell Dean and Seamus how to get into the kitchens, and they go get food instead.

Everyone wants a turn at holding the cup. It gets passed around several times, but I always end up being the official holder of it. Everyone pats me on the back, congratulates me on a job well done, and a few even congratulate me for bringing Gryffindor to victory twice in a row. Nobody seems to want to hear me point out that it wasn't just me. Eventually, I get tired of pointing it our and just smile and thank them.

Things get more exciting when Dean and Seamus return with the food and drinks. I grab a butterbeer and start talking excitedly with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. I get yanked away, however, by Dean and Seamus, who both put an arm around me, grinning.

"Attention, everybody!" Seamus says loudly. When everybody turns around to look at us, Seamus says, "To the girl who's lead Gryffindor into Quidditch victory for the  _second_ year in a row!"

Everyone starts clapping and cheering.

"Come on, it really wasn't - "

"No need to be modest," Dean grins. "We're  _celebrating._ Neville, the flag!"

Neville hurries forward, carrying a very large scarlet flag, with the Gryffindor coat of arms on it. Neville hands it to Dean, and before I can protest, Dean wraps it around me like some odd sort of cape.

"You guys are ridiculous," I say, shaking my head, while everyone starts laughing and cheering, though I smile slightly.

"Only the best for you," Seamus says, grinning and nudging me.

And with that, Dean and Seamus life me onto their shoulders. I let out a yelp, clutching onto Dean's shoulder desperately with the hand that isn't holding onto the Cup. People start cheering again, and in spite of myself, I start laughing. I wave jokingly over at Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, grinning and shrugging, as if to say, 'What are you going to do?'

I see the portrait hole swing open, and several people pull someone in. When that person reveals to be Harry, several people hurry to talk to him, including Ron. I pat Dean's shoulders lightly.

"Hey, let me down for a second," I say.

They nod, apparently deciding they've tortured me enough, and let me down. I make my way through the crowds to get to Harry, handing the Cup to Ron.

"Harry! How was detention?" I ask.

"We've won the Quidditch Cup and you're asking me about detention?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh," I say, looking around at the packed common room. "Oh - right. Well, I'd figured you had assumed, but... WE WON! Now, how was detention?"

"It's Snape, what d'you expect?" Harry shrugs. "But I'm glad you won. I knew you could do it!"

"I really didn't do much," I insist, shrugging, though I smile. "Anyway, it's time  _you_ got to celebrate, so..."

I take off the flag and wrap it around Harry instead. While I'm close to him, I whisper, "You know, I was talking to Ginny and she kept saying that she wished you were here, too. Just so you know."

"Really?" he says, when I move away.

"Really." I confirm, and then move to stand at his side. I gesture to the crowd at large and loudly shout, "And now, for our  _real_ captain!"

With that, I push him into the common room, right where Ginny so happens to be standing alone. Smiling brightly, Ginny hugs him. Harry, however, kisses her in front of everyone. The room goes silent. The silence is punctured by a shattering sound, which comes from Dean's bottle of Butterbeer shattering in his hand. But then it goes back to being silent as Harry and Ginny continue to kiss. They kiss for a while, and I'm starting to think they've forgotten that there are other people in the room when they pull away.

 _I tell him to talk and this is what he does,_ I think, though I can't help but grin, rather impressed by his courage. Even after they pull away, there is a long silence. Then several people wolf-whistle and there's an outbreak of nervous giggling. Romilda Vane looks lie she might throw something. Hermione is also grinning, but Ron is another story. He's still clutching the Cup and wearing an expression appropriate to having been clubbed over the head. For a second, he and Harry just look at each other. Then, Ron gives a tiny jerk of the head that I take to mean, 'Well, if you must.'

Harry grins down at Ginny and gestures wordlessly out the portrait hole. I can hardly blame him. After all, I think, grinning, after a moment like that, who wouldn't want to be alone?


	23. Malfoy's Success

**Distance Means Nothing**

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Malfoy's Success**

 

It soon becomes common knowledge to everyone in the school that Harry Potter is dating Ginny Weasley. It seems to interest a great number of people, most of them girls, but for once Harry doesn't seem to mind all the extra attention he's getting. I suppose it's preferable to be talked about over something that makes him happy, rather than being talked about over performing horrific Dark magic on a fellow student.

"You'd think people would have better things to gossip about," Ginny says one day, as she sits on the common room floor, leaning against Harry's legs and reading the  _Daily Prophet_. "Three Dementor attacks in a week, and all Romilda Vane does is ask me whether you've really got a Hippogriff tattooed across your chest."

Ron, Hermione, and I all burst out laughing. Harry ignores us.

"What did you tell her?"

"I told her it was a Hungarian Horntail," Ginny replies, turning a page of the newspaper idly. "Much more macho."

"Thanks," Harry says, grinning. "And what did you tell her Ron's got?"

"A Pygmy Puff, but I didn't say where."

Ron scowls, but Hermione and I all but howl with laughter, clutching a stitch in our chests.

"Watch it," he said, pointing warningly at Harry and Ginny. "Just because I've given my permission doesn't mean I can't withdraw it - "

"Your permission," Ginny scoffs. "Since when do you give me permission to do anything? Anyway, you said yourself that you'd rather it was Harry than Michael or Dean."

"Yeah, I would," Ron says grudgingly. "And just as long as you don't start snogging each other in public - "

"You filthy hypocrite! What about you and Lavender, thrashing around like a pair of eels all over the place?" Ginny demands.

As we move into June, Harry and Ginny's time becomes more restricted, due to the fact that Ginny's O.W.L's are rapidly approaching, and she needs to study. Hermione tells Harry off more than once for distracting Ginny when she should be studying. It occurs to me that I ought to start studying for my own exams, and I do - kind of. All the news of death and funerals of famous wizards have me distracted and thinking largely about one thing: my parents. More specifically, my parents' graves.

I never thought much of visiting my parents' graves before. Maybe it's because, living with the Martins and everything, it just never seemed like much of an option before. But I think it's because my parents are something of an odd concept to me. They hardly seem real. It seems like they had always been dead. The way I think about it, it's something that just is and always has been. The sky is  _just_ blue, Hogwarts is  _just_ big, and my parents are  _just_ dead. That's the way it is. But no, that's not it. They were real, they had lived, and they had been  _my_ parents. Perhaps all I need for it to hit me is to visit their graves. See them in the only way I'll ever be able to see them again. But I'm still hesitant about it. Will it really help me? Or will it only cause me more pain?

I'm thinking this over as I read a copy of the Daily Prophet one day, while Harry and Ron do Herbology homework (though I'm inclined to believe that Harry really isn't doing his homework, as he hasn't written anything in over half an hour), when Hermione sits down beside me with an extremely purposeful look on her face.

"I want to talk to you, Harry."

"What about?" Harry asks suspiciously.

"The so-called Half-Blood Prince."

"Oh, not again," Harry groans. "Will you please drop it?"

Harry has not dares to get his book back from the Room of Requirement, and his performance in Potions has been suffering ever since (though Slughorn, who approves very much of Ginny, jovially attributes this to love-sickness). However, he's certain that Snape still wants to get his hands on the Half-Blood Prince's book, and is determined not to go back to get it while Snape is on the lookout.

"I'm not dropping it," Hermione says firmly, "until you've heard me out. Now, I've been trying to figure out a bit about who might make a hobby out of inventing Dark spells - "

"He didn't make a hobby out of it - "

"He, he - who said it's a he?" Hermione demands.

"We've been through this," Harry says crossly. "The Half-Blood  _Prince_ , Hermione,  _Prince_!"

"Right!" Hermione says, red patches blazing in her cheeks as she pulled a very old piece of newsprint out of her pocket and slams it down on the table in front of Harry. "Look at that! Look at the picture!"

Harry picks up the crumbling piece of paper and looks at the photograph. Ron and I peer at it over his shoulder. The picture shows a skinny girl of around fifteen. She appears to be simultaneously cross and sullen, with heavy brows and a long, pallid face. Underneath the photograph is the caption:  _Eileen Prince, Captain of the Hogwarts Gobstones Team_. I glance up at Hermione, suddenly realising where she's going with this.

"So?" Harry says, having not realised it yet.

"Her name was Eileen Prince. Prince, Harry."

Harry and Hermione look at each other. There's a look of sudden realisation on Harry's face, and then he bursts out laughing.

"No way."

"What?" Hermione demands.

"You think she was the Half-Blood...? Oh, come on."

"Well, why not? Harry, there aren't any real princes in the wizarding world! It's either a nickname, a made-up title somebody's given themselves, or it could be their actual name, couldn't it? No, listen! If, say, her father was a wizard, whose surname was 'Prince', and her mother was a Muggle, then that'd make her a 'Half-Blood Prince!'"

"Yeah, very ingenious, Hermione..." says Harry.

"But it would! Maybe she was proud of being half a Prince!"

"Listen, Hermione, I can tell it's not a girl. I can just tell."

"The truth is you don't think a girl would've been clever enough!" Hermione says angrily.

"How could I have hung around with you and Hazel for so long and not think girls are clever?" Harry says, stung. "It's the way he writes. I just know the Prince was a bloke, I can tell. This girl hasn't got anything to do with it. Where did you get this, anyway?"

"The library," Hermione replies, unsurprisingly. "There's a whole collection of old Prophets up there. Well, I'm going to find out more about Eileen Prince if I can."

"Enjoy yourself," Harry says irritably.

"I will," Hermione says stubbornly. "And the first place I'll look," she shots at him, as she reaches the portrait hole, "is records of old Potions awards!"

Harry scowls after her for a moment, then looks out the window, apparently contemplating the darkening sky.

"She just never got over you outperforming her in Potions," Ron says, returning to his copy of  _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi._

"You don't think I'm mad, wanting that book back?"

"Course not," Ron says robustly. "He was a genius, the Prince. Anyway... without his bezoar tip..." he draws a finger significantly across his throat. "I wouldn't be here to discuss it, would I? I mean, I'm not saying that spell you used on Malfoy was great - "

"Nor am I," Harry says quickly.

"But he healed alright, didn't he? Back on his feet in no time."

"Yeah," Harry agrees. "Thanks to Snape..."

"The Prince was awfully clever, whoever they were," I admit. "But you have to admit that this Prince character is awfully dodgy for having that spell written down, however he got a hold of it."

"I'm saying nothing of the sort," Harry says. "And I  _won't_ say anything of the sort until I figure out how he got hold of that spell."

"You still got detention with Snape on Saturday?" Ron asks, intervening.

"Yeah, and the Saturday after that, and the Saturday after that," Harry sighs. "And he's hinting now that if I don't get all the boxes done by the end of the term, we'll carry on next year."

Behaviour like this from Snape is entirely unsurprising to me, and I'm just about to express this, when the appearance of Jimmy Peakes with a scroll of parchment interrupts me.

"Thanks, Jimmy... hey, it's from Dumbledore!" Harry says excitedly, unrolling the parchment and scanning it. "He wants me to go to his office as quick as I can!"

We all stare at each other.

"Blimey," whispers Ron. "You don't reckon... he hasn't found...?"

"Better go and see, hadn't I?" Harry says, jumping to his feet, and with that, he hurries out of the common room.

When the portrait hole swings shut, Ron and I look from the spot Harry disappeared from to each other, excited and nervous and tense, all at the same time.

"What if Harry goes to find a Horcrux  _tonight_?" Ron whispers, his eyes wide.

"It can't be tonight, though, can it?" I whisper back. "If Dumbledore's only just found it, then he'll have to plan out how to get to it, he'll have to prepare to leave. I mean, it's  _Dumbledore,_ and we're in the middle of a war, he can't just leave the castle without making sure that everyone in here will be safe while he's gone, right?"

"But what if he's known about it for ages and he's been biding his time, planning it all out, and now he's ready to go?" Ron retorts.

"That could be it," I say contemplatively. "But why wouldn't he tell Harry about it?"

"He wouldn't want to distract him, see!" Ron says eagerly, now properly convinced of himself. "If he told Harry about it, Harry wouldn't want to stick around and wait, he'd want to go right away! And then he'd be distracted from school and everything around him, wouldn't he, and Dumbledore wouldn't want that, right?"

"That does make sense," I agree.

Soon after, Hermione enters the common room, sitting down across from us once more.

"Find anything on Eileen Prince?" Ron asks sceptically.

"Not yet," Hermione says loftily. "But I think I'm getting close. Where's Harry?" she adds, before I can tell her that it's highly unlikely that she'll ever convince Harry of her theory.

"He's gone to see Dumbledore," Ron says, lowering his voice. "He sent a message telling Harry to go see him as soon as he could. We think he might've found a Horcrux."

"Really?" Hermione says, leaning forward, apparently forgetting all about her loftiness in her shock and excitement. "Where? When are they going to go find it?"

"Well, we don't know yet," I say, shrugging. "We don't even know for sure if this is about Horcruxes, we just know Dumbledore wanted to see him."

"That's true," Hermione breathes. "We ought to just wait until Harry comes back and see what he says."

We try to go back to our normal lives after this, but now we're all too distracted to really get anything done. Soon after I give up on getting my homework done completely, Harry enters the common room again.

"What does Dumbledore want?" Hermione asks at once. Then, noticing how pale Harry looks, says, "Harry, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Harry says shortly, racing past us to the boys' dormitories.

We exchange bewildered looks. He returns a minute later with his Invisibility Cloak, the Marauder's Map, and an old pair of balled up socks. A rather odd combination.

"I haven't got much time," Harry pants. "Dumbledore thinks I'm getting my Invisibility Cloak. Listen..."

Quickly, Harry explains what has just happened. How Trewlawney told him she heard the sound of someone celebrating; how Harry is certain that it's Malfoy, as he's finally succeeded at what he's been trying to do for so long; how Trelawney told him that it was Snape who had overheard Trelawney telling Dumbledore the prophecy about Harry and Voldemort; how he's now convinced that Snape and Malfoy are working together on whatever it is; and how Dumbledore has indeed found a Horcrux and that they're going to retrieve it now. He doesn't pause for Hermione's gasps of horror or Ron and my attempts at hasty questions.

"... so you see what this means?" Harry finishes at a gallop. "Dumbledore won't be here tonight, so Malfoy's going to have a clear shot at whatever he's up to. No, listen to me!" Harry hisses angrily, when Ron and Hermione open their mouths to protest. "I know it was Malfoy celebrating in the Room of Requirement. Here - " he shoves the Marauder's Map in Hermione's hand. "You've got to watch him and you've got to watch Snape, to. Use anyone else you can rustle up from the D.A. Hermione, those Galleons still work, right? Dumbledore says he's put extra protection in the school, but if Snape's involved, he'll know what Dumbledore's protection is, and how to avoid it - but he won't be expecting you lot to be on the watch, will he?"

"Harry - " Hermione begins, her eyes wide with fear.

"I haven't got time to argue," he says curtly. "Take this as well." Harry thrusts the socks into Ron's hands.

"Thanks," says Ron. "Er - why do I need socks?"

"You need what's wrapped in them, it's the Felix Felicis," Harry replies. "Share it between yourselves and Ginny, too. Say goodbye to her from me. I'd better go, Dumbledore's waiting - "

"Wait - no!" I say suddenly, as Ron unwraps the tiny golden bottle, looking awestruck. "If anyone's going to need it, it's you, not us. You take it, who knows what you're about to face!"

"I'l be fine, I'll be with Dumbledore," he says. "I want to know you lot are okay... don't look like that, Hermione, I'll see you later."

And then he's off, out the portrait hold. We sit in shock for a moment, as what we've just been told registers in our minds.

"Well, we might as well get to it," I say. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," I point my wand at the blank Marauder's Map. "Snape's in his office..." I say, pointing at that part of the map. "But where's Malfoy?"

"He's not on here," Hermione says, after scanning the map carefully. "Which must mean..."

"He's in the Room of Requirement," Ron says grimly. "Harry was right, he was the bloke who was celebrating."

"Then we need to move quickly," I say, trying to sound determined as opposed to frightened. "Hermione, you go and get the Galleons, but don't use it yet. Both of you meet me in the Great Hall. I'm going to get Ginny. We'll drink whatever's left of the Felix Felicis and then summon anyone from the D.A. who'll come. I'd say we ought to share it with others, but I'm wondering if there'll be enough for the four of us, let alone others... we'll figure out what to do from there, depending on how many D.A. members show up. Alright?" I add, when neither of them say anything.

"Alright," Hermione says in a high-pitched voice.

"Yeah, alright," Ron says, swallowing.

"Good," I say, leaping to my feet. "I'll see you guys in the Great Hall."

Keeping my wand held tightly in my hand, I hurry out of the common room and through the portrait hole.

"What are you doing out?" asks the Fat Lady. "It's curfew soon!"

"I'm going to the library," I call, looking over at the Fat Lady over my shoulder. It's not an outright lie, since I'm going to get Ginny, who probably is in the library. In any case, in a time like this, I really can't bring myself to give a damn about curfew, but I can't exactly say that to the Fat Lady.

I pick up the pace, though, moving quickly and silently, not wanting to waste time by being confronted by a teacher. I find Ginny just as she's walking out of the library.

"Ginny!" I say, jogging over to her, linking arms with her and leading her in the opposite direction that she was originally headed. "Come with me to the Great Hall. It's important."

"Why?" she demands, slightly indignant. "What's wrong?"

I explain everything to her in an undertone as we walk to the Great Hall, leaving out the part about Horcruxes specifically. By the end of it, her eyes are wide with fear, but she looks ready and determined. I can tell she's fighting off her fear, just as I am.

"Well, let's go then," she says, walking faster. "We need to be quick, before a teacher stops us."

We reach the Great Hall to find Ron and Hermione already waiting for us. Ron is sitting on top of the Gryffindor table, holding the socks which contain the bottle of Felix Felicis and the Marauder's Map, and Hermione is pacing in front of him, holding the contact Galleon.

"Let's get right to it," I say, as Ginny tosses her bag onto the Gryffindor table. "Ron, hand me the bottle."

Ron pulls the bottle of Felix Felicis and hands it to me. I hold it up to the light, shaking it slightly and looking up at it with my eyes slightly narrowed.

"Well, there ought to be enough for all of us if we don't drink much," I say. I lower the bottle and look around at them apprehensively, before muttering, "I'll go first, then."

I raise the tiny bottle and take a very careful, measured gulp, then lower it slowly from my lips. For a second, I feel nothing. Then I thrust it in Ginny's hands before I feel tempted to drink more, because an exhilarating sense of infinite opportunity courses through my body, and I can only imagine it will feel better with more, but I also know I can't afford to have more. Common sense tells me that what we're about to do is dangerous, but suddenly it doesn't feel like it'll be so bad...

Ginny takes a sip from the potion, before passing it to Hermione, who also drinks a bit from it. Ron takes it last, and drinks the tiny bit of potion that remains. For a second, we just look at each other, taking in the sensation that the potion gives us. But then Ginny brings us back to reality.

"Right, let's move fast," she says. "Hermione, use the Galleon, and make sure they know to meet us here."

Hermione nods and pulls out the Galleon, pulling out her wand to change the date and location on the Galleon. Ron, Ginny, and I keep watch on the Marauder's Map in the meanwhile. I watch to see if Malfoy pops us, Ginny keeps watch on Snape, and Ron keeps watch to see if anybody's approaching the Great Hall. When Hermione finished, she looks up at us.

"Well, I've done it," she says. "Now let's just hope that they still keep their Galleons..."

With that, Hermione resumes pacing, and Ron, Ginny, and I continue watching the map carefully. I keep my eyes glued to the spot where I know the map disappears into the Room of Requirement, not sure if I want for Malfoy to leave the room or stay there forever with whatever else he's got planned. I want something to happen, though, since the tension in the air is suffocating.

"Hey, look!" Ron says suddenly. "Neville's coming!"

My eyes flicker down to the Entrance Hall to see a dot labelled "Neville Longbottom" moving quickly over to the doors of the Great Hal. My eye snap up from the Map and find Neville standing in front of us, framed by the great double doors of the Great Hall.

"Ron? Hermione? Hazel? Ginny?" Neville says, hurrying to draw level with us. "I felt the coin burning, what's going on?"

Hermione takes the liberty of explaining it to Neville as best as she can, while Ron, Ginny, and I return to keeping watch with the Marauder's Map.

Halfway through Hermione's explanation of the events, however, Ron interrupts to say, "Luna's coming, too!"

And indeed, Luna enters the Great Hall, looking about dreamily as usual, so that she could have just wandered in here by accident.

"What's happening? Why did you use the coins?" Luna asks. "Are we restarting Dumbledore's Army? Don't you think it's a little late in the term for that?"

"No, Luna, that's it," Hermione says, slightly impatiently, and with that, she restarts from the beginning to catch Luna up, as well as Neville.

"Alright," says Neville afterwards. "So what's the plan?"

"That's to be determined," I say. "We're waiting to see how many people show up before we figure that out."

Time passes after that, however, and nothing happens. Nobody shows up. Tension continues to mount, with nothing to distract ourselves from it.

"Wonderful turnout, eh?" Ron mutters to me, after some time passes.

"They probably don't keep their Galleons anymore," I say, sighing. "They wouldn't think they'd need it, now that Umbridge is gone. Look, I think this is about as much support as we're getting from the D.A. It's already - " I glance at my watch - "eight thirty-six, which means we've wasted too much time here. We need to figure out a game plan and we need to do it now."

"You're right," Hermione says, sighing and shoving her Galleon into the pocket of her robes.

"Alright, so there's six of us, so I say we split into groups of two," I say. "Ron, Ginny, you two stand guard at the Room of Requirement itself. Take the map with you and keep watching to see if anyone else - particularly Snape - is coming. Hermione, Luna, you two stand outside Snape's office. If he leaves, make something up, anything. But do whatever it takes to stay on his trail. Neville, you and me are going to stand at the next corridor over from the Room of Requirement. If Malfoy gets away or something gets out of hand, we'll be there to spring into action. It also puts us in a better position to run for help if we have to. Everyone understand?" When they all nod, I say, "Good, then let's go. Quickly."

We set off, hurrying out of the Great Hall into the Entrance Hall. Along the way, we part ways with Hermione and Luna, who go to Snape's office. Once we reach the next corridor over from the Room of Requirement, Neville and I stay where we are, standing at either end of the corridor, while Ron and Ginny move forward to the actual corridor of the Room of Requirement.

"And now we wait?" says Neville.

"And now we wait." I confirm.

Waiting seems a lot easier in concept, considering the fact that you're not doing anything, but that stops making it easier when not doing anything seems like it's going to be your undoing. When all you want to do is  _something_ , anything. Time passes by, one hour, two hours, three, and still nothing. What could Malfoy be  _doing_ in there? What has he been doing in there for the past nine months? Working so hard at it that he eventually started to look ill? What is it that's causing him to celebrate? Why can't it just happen already, whatever it is? Because with each passing moment, each moment we wait, my fear mounts slowly.

Neville and I take to pacing the corridor, passing each other halfway, our wands clutched tightly in our hands. We try to talk to each other, but we can't keep a conversation going to save our lives. So we pace in silence, Neville staring down at the ground and me fidgeting nonstop.

"Why is it that Dumbledore and Harry left the castle again?" he asks after a while.

"Dumbledore gives Harry extra lessons, you know, to help him," I say. "It's for that."

Which, of course, isn't a lie. Dumbledore does give Harry extra lessons to help him, and their leaving the castle does have to do with it. It's not necessarily the truth, either, but I can't focus on that.

No teachers pass by us. Not even Filch or Mrs. Norris. I assume that's the lucky potion at work, if only because I'd like to think that it's having some affect on us and that we do have some luck on our side. At a time like this, it's nice to think that someone or something is on your side, even if it's just a tiny portion of Felix Felicis.

Suddenly, there's a shout, there's sound of protests from Ron and Ginny, and before Neville and I can react, the world is plunged in darkness. After a moment, I recognise it as Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. Stopping myself from letting out a yelp, I grab onto Neville's arm and yank him against the wall, standing close beside him.

" _Lumos!_ " Neville whispers determinedly. " _Lumos! Incendio! Lumos!_ "

"It won't work," I whisper to him, hardly daring to breathe. "It's Peruvian Darkness Powder. Fred and George specifically designed it so that spells like that won't do anything. The only thing we can do is get out of the powder's reach. Come on."

I'm about to start edging away, when I hear the sound of people talking, laughing, cheering. I hear Malfoy's voice prominently among them. I recognise one man's voice, and my heart stops: Dolohov. He was with Lucius Malfoy and the others at the Department of Mysteries. When I hear the woman's voice, my blood runs cold. Bellatrix Lestrange. Now I know who the people with Malfoy are.

"Death Eaters," I whisper, horrified. "Come on, Neville, quickly, we need to go."

I start edging away, clutching onto Neville's arm, as though to make sure he's still with me. I move as quickly as I can in the darkness that's pressing like a weight around us, but we don't make it far before the sound of their pounding footsteps begin. They rush past into our corridor, and then they start running past us. I can't count how many of them there are, but I can tell a few things already. We're dangerously outnumbered, dangerously outmatches, and they already have the element of surprise on us.

Determined to take at least a few of them out, I tighten my grip on Neville's arm, as though making sure that it's not him I'll be aiming at in the darkness, point my wand blindly, and think,  _Stupefy!_ There's the sound of a grunt, and someone falling to the floor with a thud. I stop, wait a few seconds to see if anyone will hit me in retaliation, and when nobody does, point my wand again and think,  _Petrificus Totalus!_ Again, there's a yelp and the sound of someone falling to the floor. By the time the sound of people rushing past us disappears, I'm confident I've taken out at least five of their number.

"Neville, they're gone," I breathe. "Come on, let's get out of here, quickly."

Still holding onto his arm, I edge away, leading the both of us away, moving as quickly as I can in the darkness. Neville and I are both cursed with clumsiness, which slows us down considerably.

"How did they get out of here in all this darkness?" Neville says as we move, still quiet.

"I don't know," I whisper, until, suddenly, I do know. "The Hand of Glory! Malfoy's got a Hand of Glory, it gives light to the person who holds it. That must be able to penetrate the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder..."

Finally, we reach a corridor out of the powder's reach.

"At least we're out of there," Neville says. "We can actually do something now."

"Yeah," I agree.

However, I still feel just as lost and helpless as I did lost in the powder. Malfoy's plan becomes clear. All this time, he was trying to smuggle Death Eaters into Hogwarts. That's what he's been dedicating so much time and energy to. And he's succeeded. They're here.

The Death Eaters have infiltrated Hogwarts.


	24. Stay Awake, Stay Alive

**Distance Means Nothing**

**Chapter Twenty-Four: Stay Awake, Stay Alive**

**  
**

I turn to Neville, trying to ignore my fear as best as I can. It's difficult, of course, to ignore a rapidly beating heart or a feeling of dread, but it has to be done.

"We need to act quickly," I say, as we start running down the corridor, trying to figure out where they went. "Look, Neville, you ought to go find someone. A teacher, I mean. McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout - anyone that can help."

"But I want to fight," Neville argues, frowning.

"I know you do," I say. "But you have to admit it'd help to have a few extra wands on our side, especially teachers."

"But - " Neville begins, about to protest, when we turn the corner and run into, to my utter relief, Remus, Tonks, and Bill.

"Remus! Tonks! Bill!" I gasp. "Death Eaters! Harry was right about Malfoy, he was working with Voldemort - he's smuggled in Death Eaters. They're here! We tried to stop them, but Malfoy threw down Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder and we couldn't see a thing - we just got out - and now we don't know where they are, but they're here - "

"Wait," Bill says sharply, his brow furrowed, "start from the beginning."

Quickly, breathlessly, I explain everything from the very beginning. When I finish, Remus and Tonks exchange looks, then both nod.

"We'd better get to it, then," says Remus. "Neville, go find a teacher, someone, contact as many people as you can."

Neville opens his mouth, as though to protest, but then he closes it. I suppose Remus, regardless of the fact that he's no longer a teacher, is an authority figure to Neville that he can't disobey. He nods, then hurries away. Remus then turns to me.

"Hazel, you should go, too - " he begins.

"I don't see why Neville can't handle it on his own," I say fiercely, knowing that all he wants to do is get me away from the fighting. "And you'll need people to help fight while you're waiting for backup, won't you?"

Remus opens his mouth to protest, but then Tonks is saying, "Let her fight, Remus. She's right, we'll need all the help we can get."

Remus looks reluctant, but still nods in agreement. We've just started running down the corridor, when Ron and Ginny burst out from around the corner behind us, gasping for breath, apparently having just escaped the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder.

"Death Eaters!" Ron gasps out.

"There are Death Eaters - in the castle - " says Ginny.

"Yeah," I say, with slight impatience, "they know."

Ron and Ginny blink, straightening up.

"Oh," Ron says blankly. "Well. That's good."

"Yeah, it's fantastic," Tonks says sarcastically. "Now let's  _go_."

"Good idea," Bill agrees.

We all take off running, trying to find out where they went. Minutes later, we find them heading towards the Astronomy Tower. What could they want to do in there? They turn around to find us drawing level with them. I recognise a few of them, including Dolohov, Bellatrix, and Fenrir Greyback. Apparently, Malfoy has no more Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder with which to protect themselves. Bellatrix Lestrange smirks at us, as though she finds our presence funny if anything.

"Oh, why don't you run along now?" she drawls, a cold sort of casualness to her voice. "Make this easier on yourselves."

"Not happening," Tonks snarls, raises her way and waves it. A jet of red light flies toward Bellatrix, but she deflects it easily, sending a Killing Curse Tonks' way. Both Tonks and Ginny, who had been standing behind her, duck, and the jet of green light hits a nearby statue instead.

The action sets everything off, and before I know it, we're locked in battle, duelling fiercey with the Death Eaters. I dodge a Killing Curse, sending an Impediment Jinx in return, but the lumpy-faced Death Eater I'm duelling deflects it with a wave of his wand, redirecting it at me. I jump to the side, the curse missing me by inches. Just as this happens, Neville returns, followed by McGonagall in a tartan dressing gown. Neither of them stop to question the situation. Immediately, they jump into battle to help us.

The Death Eaters, not having anticipated so many people to be fighting them, scatter, all of them darting in different directions. We give chase, running after the Death Eaters we had been duelling previously, continuing our fights. I notice one of them slipping past to the Astronomy Tower, but I can't do anything, as I'm too busy struggling to hold my own against two Death Eaters at once. They send Killing Curse after Killing Curse my way, and it's all I can do to dodge both of their curses.

" _Avada Kedavra! - Avada Kedavra! -_ come on, now, little girl, you can't dance forever!" one of them says tauntingly. "Avoid and evade, that's all you do. Sooner or later you'll have to fight back!"

Finally, I jump behind a statue, hardly daring to breathe.

" _Stupefy!_ " I cry, aiming a spell around the statue, before quickly ducking behind it again.

I hear a grunting sound, and slowly, peer around the statue to find, to my utter relief, that I had managed to hit one of the Death Eaters I had been duelling.

" _Avada Kedavra!_ " the other Death Eater cries, and I draw back once more, just before the spell can hit me square in the face.

The corridor is full with sounds of people shouting and crying out in pain, so that I can't hear the other Death Eater's footsteps approaching, and even if I dared look around the statue again, the semi-darkness would prohibit me from seeing much, but I know that the other Death Eater is approaching me. Walking towards me, slowly but surely. I can sense it, sense his slow, heavy footsteps, and will myself to stay where I am, my breathing ragged.

 _Stay where you are, Hazel,_ I tell myself.  _Wait for him to come to you, then strike._

My heart is pounding wildly in my chest, so hard that I'm sure the other Death Eater can hear it better and better with each step he takes. Hell, I'm half convinced that everyone in the vicinity can hear it, friend or foe, and are thinking about how ridiculous I am. Ridiculous and irrational and cowardly. I clutch onto my wand tighter, clenching my free hand into a fist, to cover up how hard my hands are shaking. Any second now, any second... he'll come around and face me and surely it'll be an Unforgivable Curse that leaves his lips before anything else, and if I'm just a millisecond too slow... I shake my head, willing myself to calm down. Stay calm. Stay calm. I can do this.

Just then, he jumps in front of me, raising his wand immediately and crying, " _Cruci -_ "

But he clearly did not expect me to be so prepared for him. I jump out of the way, moving so that I'm standing behind him, and raise my wand, aiming it at his back.

" _Stupefy!_ " I cry, and the spell hits him in the small of his back, causing him to crumple to the floor.

Before I can allow myself to feel too relieved, I hear Ron's voice somewhere behind me, crying, "Hazel, look out!"

I whip around, just to find Dolohov right in front of me. I raise my wand quickly, but he bats it out of my hand, almost dismissively. He forces me to turn around, picking me by the scruff of my neck and slamming me against the wall, next to where his fallen comrade lies. The stone of the castle is cool against my cheek, but his hand on my throat isn't, it's warm and clammy and if I don't do something quickly, it'll strangle me. I try to step on his foot, but to no avail.

"Are you ready to die?" he growls, pointing his wand at my back. "I should've done this last year, but at least I can take care of this now..."

Struggling wildly, I stomp my feet as hard as I can and reach wildly with my hands, trying to find a way out of this. Finally, I manage to stomp my foot on his. When he lets out a cry of pain, I repeat the action, pressing my foot down as hard as I possibly can. While he's distracted, I aim a kick at him, hitting him in the knee. Due to temporary pain, Dolohov lets go of me. Relieved to be let go of, I breathe deeply, getting a hold of myself, all while turning around to face him. I kick him again, in the stomach, before punching him in the face. I hit him again and again in varying ways, until he's doubled over. I then push him over, bringing him to the ground. Only due to his lack of balance do I manage it, but it's enough for me. I snatch his wand out of his hand, not wanting to waste time getting my own, and point it at him.

"I guess I'm not dying today," I snarl. " _Incarcerous!_ "

Immediately, thick ropes appear out of thin air and bind themselves tightly around him, rendering him immobile. Just to be safe, however, I put him in a Full Body Bind, before looking for my own wand. Once I find it, I pick it up and throw Dolohov's wand as far away as I can. Then I look around, assessing the situation. Even at first glance, even in the darkness, I can tell we're losing. We're outnumbered, even with the extra help. Just as I note this, the Death Eater who had rushed up the Astronomy Tower appears in the corridor again, and immediately gets hit with a Killing Curse that Remus had just dodged. He falls to the floor, dead before he gits the ground.

"Gibbon's dead!" one of the Death Eaters cry out, while I stare at the Death Eater's, apparently called Gibbon, body. "Gibbon's down!"

I stare in horror. I shouldn't be so horrified, so affected by this. It's not like I haven't seen death before. I can see Thestrals for a reason. I saw death as a baby, when I saw my parents die. I saw Sirius die just last year, and I had admired and respected him, had grieved after he had died. I will not grieve for Gibbon. I did not admire and respect Gibbon. I felt nothing for him, he was an enemy if anything. He would've killed me without a second thought if I had ever given him half a chance. And, besides, I try to remember, that curse had almost hit Remus. Better this Gibbon bloke than him.

Still, there's something terrible, something haunting in watching someone die, especially in such a way. Watching them fall to the floor, dead. Dead as if they had never lived. I feel nothing for Gibbon, but I still can't help but feel shaken.

The Death Eaters care even less than I do. That Death Eater had only announced it to inform everyone, just to keep them updated. They continue on battling, as if nothing had happened, as if one of their own hadn't just died. I concede that this might be because they have to carry on, having to keep fighting as not to anger their master. Something makes me feel doubtful, though, and I wonder if they all know how little their lives truly seem to mean to each other.

I can't dwell on this, though. Giving my head a small shake, I look around, assessing the situation, trying to figure everything out. I notice Malfoy heading for the Astronomy Tower, two other Death Eaters noticing him and following his lead, and I'm about to run after them and stop them, when I notice something else that makes me forget everything else completely. Curses still fly around me, most of them deadly or dangerous or both, but I hardly take notice of them. They seem to just fly past, like something in a dream. All the yelling from before is still there, but it's not so loud in my ears anymore, rather tuned out now, as though it's all just background noise from a movie. Nothing seems real anymore, except for the fact that the werewolf Fenrir Greyback has found a new target, and it's Bill Weasley, who's just finished taking out a Death Eater.

When Greyback starts running after Bill, I want to run myself, but my feet feel firmly glued to the floor, and I find I can't move for the life of me. So, naturally, I do the second best thing.

I scream.

"Bill!" I cry out, but my voice seems quiet and muffled even in my own ears, so I try to scream louder. "Bill! BILL! LOOK OUT! BILL!"

Bill turns around, but it's far too late. Greyback pounces on him, clawing and scratching at his face. Nobody else seems to notice. How could they not notice? Nothing else seems to really be happening except for this. I manage to start moving, slowly at first, almost in a dream-like state, but then faster, and soon I'm running for dear life, dodging friend and foe alike, ducking under any spells sent my way. I reach them just as Greyback sinks his teeth into Bill's neck.

"NO!" I shout.

Greyback looks up at me and snarls. He moves away from Bill, leaping up to pounce at me. I'm too quick for him, however.

" _Impedimenta!_ " I cry, and he freezes midair. While he's frozen, I yell, " _Flipendo!_ " sending him flying backward and crashing into the castle wall.

I run over to Bill, dropping to my knees beside him and holding him up, looking at him desperately. I nearly want to faint looking at him. He's so badly ripped and slashed that he looks grotesque. Greyback had harmed him very badly, and had even bitten him, but it's not the full moon... Greyback isn't a full wolf, not tonight... so what does this mean for Bill?

"Bill," I say urgently, trying not to think about the possibility of him not surviving. "Bill! Are you - are you awake? If you can hear me, say or do something - anything."

At first, nothing. Then he lets out a groan, so faint and weak that I almost miss it, but yes that's definitely coming from him. I almost want to cry from relief.

"So, you can hear me and understand me, yeah?" I say. "That's good, that's brilliant."

Just then, I hear someone growling, and look up to see Greyback standing over me, looking threatening. I've just pointed my wand at him when he looks away. He seems to notice the Death Eaters running up the Astronomy Tower, because he looks at me, gives me a look that says something along the lines of, "I'll get you next time," and runs off. Neville tries to run after him, but when he reaches the door, he's thrown back, as though by some invisible force field. He land face first onto the ground. Concern courses through me, but then Ginny runs over to him, and I have to forget my concern momentarily. Ginny's got him, and now I need to take care of Bill.

"You're still with me, right?" I ask him.

I tiny nod is my reply.

"Good. It's very, very good that you're awake right now, you know. I'm going to take you to the hospital wing, alright, and in the meanwhile, you only have to do one thing, okay? Stay awake. That's all you've got to do, okay?"

Another small nod.

"Good," I say. "Let's go."

I wrap his arm around my shoulder, and very slowly, get to my feet, bringing him up with me and wrapping an arm around his waist. I almost completely lose my balance right away, as he's putting his full weight on me, and he's quite a bit bigger than me. Once I adjust to his weight, however, I look around, trying to figure out which way to go. The short way to the hospital wing seems out of the question, since that requires going down the length of the corridor, where the battle is taking place. Carrying Bill with me, I'd move far too slow. We'd both be dead within seconds. That leaves the long way, which only requires for us to turn the nearby corridor.

I notice Snape walking down the corridor, quickly, purposefully, his black robes billowing behind him. A hazy sort of confusion fills me up. What's he doing here? What side is he on? I want to interfere, feel the need to interfere, but what would that come to? How  _would_ I even interfere?

 _So many don't trust him,_ I think.  _I barely even trust him._

I remind myself that Dumbledore does. And with Bill bleeding all over my arm, Dumbledore's trust is enough. It has to be enough. I have no other choice.

"Right," I say, tightening my grip on Bill. "Let's go."

Slowly, I turn around and turn the corridor, barely getting us away from a Killing Curse sent our way. I have to move very, very slowly, as I'm all but dragging a dangerously faint Bill alongside me. Having my back to the battle makes me feel vulnerable, exposed. Any moment, a Death Eater could appear behind us and kill us... I wouldn't know until it's too late... even if I did know, I could hardly get into a proper fight while holding Bill... I shake the fear off, though, and hope that the others will keep the Death Eaters distracted enough for that to not happen.

We make it down one corridor without conflict, then another, then another. His blood has properly soaked through the left side of my robes, but I can't bring myself to care. All of my concentration is on getting him to the hospital wing and making sure he doesn't collapse on the spot, which is proving to be difficult. Sometimes he sways dangerously, threatening to fall over, so that I have to grip onto him tightly and pull him closer to me, encouraging him to use me even more as support. Sometimes we have to slow down, when he seems even more faint than usual. He shuffles his feet, slightly, slowly, indicating that he's awake, but sometimes it stops, signalling that he's about to pass out. I have to shake him at times like this, sometimes lightly, sometimes frantically, until he comes back to his senses - or, at least, comes back to his senses as best as he can in this state.

"Look," I say at once point, "I'm afraid you keep almost passing out, so I'm going to talk to keep you awake. You might find it to be the most annoying thing in the world, but at least you won't fall asleep, okay?"

Not sure of what to talk about, I fall back on my default conversation topic: Quidditch. I talk about the season this year, the highs and lows, and winning the Quidditch Cup. He doesn't respond, but it's not exactly like I expected him to keep up intelligent conversation with me. The castle is deadly silent except for the sound of my voice. I change the volume of voice at random, making sure he doesn't get too used to one volume and fall asleep anyway. It occurs to me several times that I sound completely ridiculous, but if it keeps Bill awake, then I don't care. Occasionally, he lets out groans of pain that make me want to move quicker, but then I remember that it's not necessarily an option and keep going at our not-so steady pace.

When we reach the first staircase, I stop dead at the top of it, looking down at it and wondering when the school staircases became as tall as mountains. I can hardly get Bill to keep moving straight, how am I going to get him down these stairs?

For precisely the fourth time in the entirety of my time at Hogwarts, I wish the castle had some bloody elevators. Or at least an escalator. Or  _something_ to help me.

Bill, whose head as drooped onto my shoulder, letting out a groan of pain brings me back to reality.

"Alright," I say bracingly. "Hold on as tight as you can."

I walk down the first step, bringing Bill with me as slowly and gently as I can. I wait, allowing him to recover, and then move down the next step. When I fear him falling down the steps, I grip onto him tighter than ever. I repeat the process, talking to him all the while and encouraging him, until we finally make it to the bottom of the steps.

"Right," I say, adjusting Bill's arm around my shoulder and letting out a small sigh. "One down, two to go."

I can tell Bill is getting weaker as we go on. I can see it in his face, his posture; I can hear it in the way his groans are getting weaker and softer; feel it in the way he bleeds more and more, at the way his blinks become longer and longer. This makes me want to move quicker, but the weaker he gets, the slower we have to go. Desperate to keep him awake, I start singing. I sing the Hogwarts school song, I sing the latest Weird Sisters' songs, I sing  _Weasley is Our King._ Anything to make sure he doesn't succumb.

After we make it down the second staircase, I say, "You're doing well, Bill, really well. I bet you can do better, though. Come on, we're almost there. You won't have to listen to my singing pretty soon."

An odd sort of expression crosses his face when I look down at his head on my shoulders, and it takes me a moment to realise that he's smiling. Well, that has to mean something, doesn't it? It has to be a good sign, a good omen,  _something_. Even if it means nothing, I decide to keep telling him jokes. They're all terrible jokes, puns that I happen to remember off the top of my head, but it keeps him smiling, and that's enough for me.

When we reach the third staircase, I'm about to start down it, when I remember that there's a trick step. I stop suddenly at the realisation, knowing already that there's no way in hell I'll be able to get Bill to skip that trick step. There's another staircase on this level, of course, without a trick step, but that'll be taking the long way to the hospital wing... I'm not sure if Bill is capable of holding on that long, but it seems we have no other choice.

"Hey, Bill, why didn't the guy trust the stairs?" I say miserably. "They're always up to something. Look, I'm going to need you to hold on for a bit longer. Not too long, though, we're almost there, then you'll be able to sleep as long as you like, alright? Let's get going."

Tightening my grip on him, I turn and keep walking, slowly and as steadily as I can manage, continuing to tell him puns and jokes as they pop into my head. Occasionally, I interrupt the joke-telling with encouragements, reassurances that we're almost there, whenever he appears to be on the brink of passing out.  _Just a little further... not long now... nearly there, we're nearly there._ They even sound empty in my own ears, but I'm hoping that in his state, he doesn't realise it.

"Ever tried eating a clock?" I ask, when we reach the top of the other staircase. "It's really time-consuming. Kind of like this, actually."

With that, I begin to lead him slowly, gently, carefully down the stairs. When we finally make it down, I let out a sigh of relief.

"Hey, here's something to celebrate," I say bracingly, smiling weakly. "No more stairs, it's like Christmas, isn't it? And what's more, we're almost there. Three more corridors, that's all it is. You can handle this."

Were these corridors always like this? So long, so empty, so never-ending? Can this school sense that we're having a hard time and just wants to take the piss out of us?

"Man, it's like they  _want_ to make this difficult, huh?" I say to him conversationally, though I'm not sure who 'they' is.

The sight of the double doors of the hospital wing is the most beautiful thing I've seen in ages. Adjusting his arm around my shoulders again and making sure that he's not about to collapse, I start walking, closer and closer to the hospital.

"Isn't it beautiful Bill?" I breathe, dragging him along with me and nodding at the double doors.

When we finally, finally reach the hospital wing, I kick the door open and we walk in slowly.

"Madam Pomfrey!" I call out loudly, desperately. "Madam Pomfrey! Come in here, quickly, it's an emergency!"

She comes running from her office, her hands clasped tightly together, looking like she hasn't slept much.

"I heard fighting, all sorts of noises, what's happening -  _what happened to him?_ " Madam Pomfrey gasped.

"Fenrir Greyback happened."

"Fenrir Grayba - but - but how? There can't be - " she begins.

"Death Eaters," I interrupt her. "In the castle. I'll explain everything to you, but please just help me get him to a bed.  _Please._ "

"Of course," Madam Pomfrey says, hurrying over to take Bill's other arm and wrap it around her shoulders, supporting him.

I sigh, relieved, when some of the weight gets taken off of me, and together we carry him over to one of the hospital beds. Relieved to have finally reached our goal, I sink into the chair near his head.

"You've still got to stay awake, though," I warn him, truing to sound authoritative.

"You look injured yourself," Madam Pomfrey points out, looking at me in concern.

"No, I'm not," I say, not understanding how she could focus on me at all. "Most of the blood is Bill's. I've got a few injuries," I continue, as I've noticed a stinging sensation on my right arm and on my cheek. When I reach to touch them, I notice that I have a small cut on my cheek and a shallow gash on my arm, "but I've come out pretty lucky, considering everything." I think about Harry and the Felix Felicis the moment the word lucky comes out of my mouth. Then I look down at Bill and wish it had been him that had gotten some instead of me. "Bill just got attacked by a  _werewolf_ , focus on him."

She just nods and gets to work. I look down at Bill, and suddenly fear pierces my heart, threatening to suffocate me. I hadn't thought about it much, all throughout getting Greyback away from him and bringing Bill here. But now it hits me. He had been  _attacked_ by a  _werewolf._ Sure, it's not the full moon, but still... with someone like Greyback, who knows what this could mean? He could become a werewolf, or at least part wolf in some way. God, he could  _die._

"Stay awake," I mutter to Bill. "Please."

I only explain what's happened to Madam Pomfrey when she begins cleaning Bill up and starts up on healing him. It occurs to me that I have no idea what happened to anyone after Bill and I left. Anything could have happened. And Neville, flung all the way back, how's he holding up? What was Snape up to? And, God, Harry and Dumbledore. Are they back yet? Who knows what they faced while finding the Horcrux. Did they succeed? And what about Hermione and Luna? They've been gone all this time, and they're clearly no longer with Snape, as I had seen him walking towards the Astronomy Tower quite alone. I have absolutely no fucking clue, and I feel like it could kill me.

"Merlin," Madam Pomfrey says feverishly while she works. "Death Eaters in Hogwarts, even with all this protection... I would never have thought."

"Nobody would've," I say hollowly.

 _Well,_ I think,  _except for maybe Harry, who had suspected Malfoy all along. But would even Harry have ever suspected something so serious?_

"Hey," I say to Bill, scolding him jokingly, though my voice is rather weak. "I see you. Stay awake. I know you can do a better job than that."

"Actually, I'd say you can sleep now," Madam Pomfrey says. "You've held on long enough. There's nothing more for you to do. Maybe rest'll do you good."

"Well, never mind, then. I've never been much of a doctor - erm, Healer," I correct myself quickly. "Good on you, Bill, you've made it."

Bill smiles faintly, nods slightly, sinks back. He's passed out within seconds. Underneath all the cuts and scratches, he looks peaceful. It's almost unnerving, though. It gives me images of seeing him dead. I tear my eyes away to look at Madam Pomfrey.

"What's going to happen to him?" I ask her quietly, as though Bill might hear.

"I don't know," she says truthfully, biting her lip as she works. "Normally, I'd say he'd turn into a werewolf, but as it's not the full moon... I've never heard a case of a werewolf attacking outside of the full moon until Greyback, so it's difficult for me to say anything for sure. There must be some effects, though, especially since it's Fenrir Greyback. He might be part werewolf. He might be human with wolf-like qualities. He might be perfectly human with some nasty scars. There's no way to say for sure. There's a  _possibility_ he might be full werewolf, but it's very, very unlikely."

"But he'll definitely survive, though?"

Madam Pomfrey hears the hopefulness, the fear in my voice, and smiles at me sympathetically, almost making me regret asking. "I can't tell you for sure. This is a special sort of case, and he got hurt pretty badly. I can't promise you anything right now."

"Right," I say shortly, looking down at Bill's face once more.

I can't stand to look at him anymore, so I stand up to walk away, pacing up and down before his bed, looking down at the ground. I think about the situation all over again, how horrible it all was, how much I still don't know. Anything could've happened to them... anything still could be happening to them, the battle could still be going on... this realisation makes me determined to get back out there again. There's nothing it seems, that I can do for Bill, but the others... that could very well be a different case.

Knowing Madam Pomfrey would never let me back out there, I walk away quickly, quietly, before slipping out the door. I have maybe seconds before she realises what I've done, so I take off running. I run through the corridors, up the stairs. It's liberating, to run so fast after being so slow for so long, and I want to run forever and ever and never stop, but then realise that I can't. There are things I need to face. Including this.

More people are out and about, standing in their pyjamas and looking desperately confused. Some people who know me call out to me, ask for an explanation, but I ignore them. I don't stop running. I need to know, I need to know, I need to know.

When I reach the corridor once again, I find a disaster zone. Half of the ceiling is caved in, dust is rising in the air, but the Death Eaters are nowhere to be found. Neville is sitting against the wall, apparently passed out. I find Ron, Remus, and Tonks all standing together near Neville, along with, to my utter relief, Hermione and Luna. Besides minor injuries, they seem to be alright. When they realise I'm there, they all let out sighs of relief.

"There you are!" Remus says, when I run to them. "We'd been worried sick, where'd you go? And where's Bill?"

"He got attacked," I say quickly. "By Fenrir Greyback. I took him to the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey's taking care of him. She doesn't know what'll happen to him, considering the circumstances, but she's doing the best she can. What happened here? Where's McGonagall?"

They explain as best as they can, apparently, it was all very confusing. McGonagall's currently dealing with damage control. Snape came, walking right into the Astronomy Tower without any problem, as if that force wasn't there. When Remus attempted to follow him, though, he got flung back just like Neville.

"He must know some counter-curse," Remus says. "He is Defence teacher, after all. Anyway, we kept on fighting as best as we could, but - well, you saw how it was. It didn't get any better. We were losing, and that one big Death Eater caved in half the ceiling. Just as I thought it was all over, Snape comes down with Draco Malfoy. We let them pass by, and then the other Death Eaters started coming down, and we thought they were being chased."

"Then Snape shouted something - none of us know what - and they all left," Tonks says. "We tried to follow after them, but the students and teachers were all up and trying to figure out what was going on, and in all that mess, they got away."

"Doing quite a bit of damage to the school in the meanwhile," Remus adds. "They set Hagrid's cabin on fire and set the Dark Mark over the tower, but we can't figure out who they killed. If Bill is still alive... I suppose it must be Gibbon, but wouldn't it have been him who set it off when he went into the tower first? And why would they celebrate a death of their own?"

"Maybe they're celebrating the fact that they got in Hogwarts," I suggest. "Letting everybody know that they're here. You know, a mark of their success."

"That's what we're thinking," Ron jumps in. "Still, it's all a bit confusing."

"What happened with you two?" I ask Hermione and Luna. "You were watching Snape, but what happened when he came over here?"

"Oh, nothing happened for all this time, but then Flitwick came running in, screaming about Death Eaters in the castle," Hermione says. "I don't even think he realised we were there. He just barged his way into Snape's office and cried for Snape to come out into the battle. And then a moment later, Snape came out and told us that Flitwick's passed out and we ought to take care of him while he goes to fight the Death Eaters. So, that's what we did until a teacher came along and told us they'd take care of it and that we should go right along to bed. Of course, we didn't go right along to bed, and we came looking for you all, but by the time we found you, the Death Eaters were gone.

"Oh, I was so stupid!" she cries. "It's so obvious now, Snape must have stunned Flitwick, but it didn't even occur to me - why would he have done that? Why was I so stupid, why - ?"

"Don't trouble yourself, Hermione," Luna says, dreamily as usual. "We probably would've had to listen to Snape either way, since he's a teacher and all."

"Luna's right," Remus says firmly. "You shouldn't trouble yourself. We'll figure everything out and fill in the blanks soon enough. For now, we should go to the hospital wing. We should check on Bill and see how Neville's doing. And we ought to contact Molly and Arthur, tell them what happened to him..."

"I'll do it," Tonks offers. She holds up her wand, says, " _Expecto Patronum!_ "

Out of her wand bursts a four-legged animal. After a second, I realise that it's not a dog, like Harry thinks, but quite clearly, a wolf. I glance over at Remus to find him looking rather uncomfortable at this. Tonks only glances at him momentarily, however, before sending the messenger Patronus off.

"I'm going to find Harry," Ginny says suddenly. She looks visibly shaken at the news of her brother, but she's carrying on best as she can. "He and Dumbledore ought to be back by now from their lesson."

"You shouldn't go alone," Ron says, who's gone pale and looks rather terrified.

"There's no danger," Ginny says stubbornly. "The fighting's over, remember?"

And before anyone can say anything, she's gone. Ron looks like he's about to follow after her, but Tonks stops him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"She's right," Tonks says, rather heavily. "She's safer now. It's over."

It's over. Those words comfort me, though they also make me want to collapse right where I am and sleep for a million years. There's no imminent threat. No threat of death right in your face.

It's over. The worst thing that could possible happen tonight has already happened. It could not get any worse. Anything that happens next is simply collateral damage. It has passed.

It's over. For now, we are safe. Of course, Hogwarts and the wizarding world in general has never been more in danger, and there's still plenty of danger to come, but for now, just for right now, we're safe. We're okay. And if we're very lucky, we'll make it out of this in decent shape.

It's over.

It's over.

It's over.


	25. The Phoenix Lament

**Distance Means Nothing**

**Chapter Twenty-Five: The Phoenix Lament**

 

"We need to take Neville, too," Tonks says.

"I've got him," Remus says, pointing his wand at him and saying, " _Moblicorpus!_ "

Neville's body rises into the air, and together, we start walking towards the hospital wing. Remus carefully keeping Neville in the air. When we make it to the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey looks up from healing Bill, looks at the lot of us, and lets out a sigh of relief. She focuses her gaze on me, looking both angry and relieved.

"There you are!" Madam Pomfrey says. "I hadn't known where you had run off to, and with all this danger - you had me worried sick!"

"She has that effect," Remus says serenely, stepping forward and placing Neville on a nearby bed. How he's staying so calm at a time like this is something I'll never fully understand. "I'm sure Hazel was simply worried about how the rest of us were doing and wanted to check on us. I suppose she was frightened that you would not permit her to leave the hospital again."

When Remus, Tonks, Hermione, and Luna all look at me expectantly, I shrug, smile sheepishly, and say, "That's more or less it, yeah."

Ron doesn't even seem to realise that we're talking. He simply walks forward to where his brother lies and drops down into a chair by his head. He says nothing, just gazing down at his brother's face, slashed and ripped open. There's a mingled expression of fear and sadness that makes me feel helpless, makes me feel like I'm intruding on something I shouldn't be seeing. He says nothing, though me mouths something wordlessly, something that looks a lot like, " _Bill._ "

While Remus explains what had happened to Neville, Tonks, Hermione, Luna, and I move to sit by Ron around Bill's bed. None of us look over at Bill for too long. I look over my shoulder at Remus and Madam Pomfrey instead.

"Well, it doesn't seem too serious," Madam Pomfrey says, peering over Neville. "I should be able to fix him up in no time. I'll just do it now, that way I can focus only on Bill afterwards..."

Indeed, it doesn't take Madam Pomfrey very long to heal Neville. Once she's finished, she leaves Neville to rest and walks over to Bill's bed, Remus moving behind her. As Madam Pomfrey continues healing Bill, dabbing at his wounds with a harsh-smelling green ointment, Remus peers over Bill's body, his brow furrowed.

"How is he?" asks Remus.

"I can't say for certain yet," Madam Pomfrey says with an apologetic smile. "But I think it's safe to say that he will survive."

It's almost as if we've all been holding our breath ever since we got in the hospital wing, perhaps even all night, and now we've all let it out at her words. The tension in the air dissipates, if only very slightly, into something more bearable. It becomes easier to look at Bill, too, knowing that this isn't the night he dies. Remus stares at Bill for longer, before finally looking away, looking thoughtful.

Soon after, to my relief, Harry and Ginny enter the hospital wing. They had been holding hands, it seems, but they let go of each other when they reach the ward. Hermione leaps to her feet, runs over, and hugs Harry. Remus moves forward, too, looking anxious.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine... how's Bill?"

Nobody answers, so Harry moves forward and looks at Bill's face, still ripped at and slashed, in spite of Madam Pomfrey's current efforts. Harry looks from Bill to the ointment in Madam Pomfrey's hands.

"Can't you fix them with a charm or something?" he asks her.

"No charm will work on these," Madam Pomfrey relies. "I've tried everything I know, but there's no cure for werewolf bites."

"But he wasn't bitten on the full moon," Ron points out, looking down at his brother's face, as though he could fix everything if he just stares hard enough. "Greyback wasn't transformed, so surely he won't be a - a real - ?"

He looks over uncertainly at Remus.

"No, I don't think Bill will be a true werewolf," Remus says, "but that doesn't mean that there won't be some contamination. Those are cursed wounds. They are unlikely to ever heal fully, and - and Bill might have some wolfish characteristics from now on."

"Dumbledore might know something that might work, though," Ron says. "Where is he? Bill fought those maniacs on Dumbledore's orders, Dumbledore owes him, he can't leave him in this state - "

"Ron - Dumbledore's dead," Ginny says.

It's like I've been hit in the head and chest with a large, heavy blunt object, yet the pain is dulled. It doesn't even seem real, because it  _can't_ be real. Albus Dumbledore  _can't_ be dead. It's impossible. It's simply one of those things that can't be. Albus Dumbledore is not dead, because how could he ever die? How could it ever be possible.

"No!" Remus says wildly, looking from Ginny to Harry, as though hoping that the latter might contradict her, but when Harry does not, he collapses into a chair, his head in his hands.

Through my shock, my dulled pain, and my denial, I think that this is the second time I've ever seen Remus lose control. The other time was at Grimmauld Place, when I had told him about my nightmares of seeing my parents die. Once again, it feels odd, almost wrong to be in control while Remus isn't, as though the world has been flipped upside down. To distract myself from it, I look away, catching Harry's eye. I ask him a question wordlessly, the only question I can think to ask in this moment:  _Is it true?_ He nods once, solemnly, and it feels as though I can no longer deny it.

I sink back into my chair, rubbing my face and feeling lost, dazed, and pained. Dumbledore is dead. The only person who seemed to know how to guide us through this mess of a war, the only one Lord Voldemort ever feared, the one who truly kept Hogwarts from any danger all this time. He's dead. Albus Dumbledore, professor, teacher, mentor, caregiver, dead. Dumbledore had been guiding us all through everything that had been happening, and now he's gone. He had been a light and he had burnt out, and now we're in the dark. We're alone now.

"How did he die?" Tonks asks. "What happened?"

"Snape killed him," Harry replies. "I was there, I saw it. We arrived back at the Astronomy Tower because that's where the mark was... Dumbledore was ill, he was weak, but I think he realised it was a trap when he heard footsteps running up the stairs. He immobilised me, I couldn't do anything, I was under the Invisibility Cloak - and then Malfoy came through the door and disarmed him - "

Hermione claps her hand to her mouth, Ron groans, and Luna's mouth trembles. My eyes widen, and I grip onto the edge of my seat to steady my hands.

" - more Death Eaters arrived - then Snape - and Snape did it. The Avada Kedavra."

Madam Pomfrey bursts into tears. Nobody pays her any mind except for Ginny, who whispers, "Shh! Listen!"

Gulping, Madam Pomfrey presses her fingers to her mouth, her eyes wide. Somewhere out in the darkness, a phoenix is singing in a way that I've never heard before. It's a stricken lament, beautiful and terrible all at the same time. It feels as though the music is inside me, filling up inside me. It's my own grief, my own loss turned into a song that echoes across the ground and through the castle windows.

I don't know how long we all stand there, listening, nor so I know why it eases our pain to listen to the sound of our grief, but it feels like a long time later that the hospital door opens again and Professor McGonagall enters the ward. Like the rest of us, she bears the marks of a recent battle: there are grazes on her face and her robes are torn.

"Molly and Arthur are on their way," McGonagall announces, and the spell of the music is broken. Everyone rouses themselves as though coming out of trances, looking back at Bill or else rubbing their eyes and shaking their heads. "Harry, what happened? According to Hagrid you were with Professor Dumbledore when he - when it happened. He says Professor Snape was involved in some - "

"Snape killed Dumbledore," Harry says, and I think it might help to have it repeated several times. It hurts to even think about Dumbledore dead, but it helps to have this impossible truth sink in.

McGonagall stares at him for a moment, then sways alarmingly. Madam Pomfrey, who seems to have pulled herself together, runs forward, conjuring a chair from thin air, which she pushes under McGonagall.

"Snape," McGonagall repeats faintly, falling into the chair. "We all wondered... but he trusted... always... Snape... I can't believe it..."

"Snape was a highly skilled Occlumens," Remus points out, his voice characteristically harsh. "We always knew that."

"But Dumbledore swore he was on our side!" Tonks whispers. "I always thought Dumbledore must know something about Snape that we didn't..."

"He always hinted he had an ironclad reason to trust Snape," mutters McGonagall, now dabbing at the corners of her leaking eyes with a tartan-edged handkerchief. "I mean... with Snape's history... of course people were bound to wonder... but Dumbledore told me Snape's repentance was absolutely genuine - wouldn't hear a word against him!"

"I'd love to know what Snape told him to convince him," Tonks says.

"I know," says Harry, and we all turn to look at him. "Snape passed Voldemort the information that made Voldemort hunt down my mum and dad. Then Snape told Dumbledore that he hadn't realised what he was doing, that he was really sorry he'd done it, sorry that they were dead."

We all stare at him disbelievingly.

"And Dumbledore believed that?" Remus says incredulously. "Dumbledore believed Snape was sorry James was dead? Snape hated James..."

"And he didn't think my mother was worth a damn, either," Harry adds, "because she was Muggle-born... 'Mudblood,' he called her..."

Nobody questions Harry on how he knows this. Everyone, just as I am, seems to be lost in horrified shock, trying to digest the terrible truth of what had happened.

"This is all my fault," McGonagall says suddenly, looking disoriented and twisting her wet handkerchief in her hands. "My fault. I sent Filius to fetch Snape tonight, I actually sent for him to come and help us! If I hadn't alerted Snape to what was going on, he might never have joined forces with the Death Eaters. I don't think he knew they were there before Filius told him, I don't think he knew they were coming."

"It isn't your fault, Minerva," Remus says firmly. "We all wanted more help, we were glad to think Snape was on his way..."

"So when we arrived at the fight, he joined in on the Death Eaters' side?" asks Harry.

"I don't know exactly what happened," McGonagall says distractedly. "It's all so confusing... Dumbledore had told us that he would be leaving the school for a few hours and that we were to patrol the corridors just in case... Remus, Bill, and Nymphadora were to join us... and so we patrolled. All seemed quiet. Every secret passageway out of the school was covered. We knew nobody could fly in. There were powerful enchantments on every entrance into the castle. I still don't know how the Death Eaters can possibly have entered..."

"I do," Harry says, and he explains briefly about the pair of Vanishing Cabinets and the magical pathway they form. "So they got in through the Room of Requirement."

He glances from me to Ron to Hermione at this.

"I messed up, Harry," Ron says bleakly. "We did like you told us: we checked the Marauder's Map and we couldn't see Malfoy on it, so we thought he must've been in the Room of Requirement, so me, Hazel, Ginny, and Neville went to keep watch on it... but Malfoy got past us."

"He came out of the room a few hours after we started keeping watch," Ginny says. "He was on his own, clutching that awful shrivelled arm - "

"His Hand of Glory," Ron says. "Gives light only to the holder, remember?"

"Anyway," Ginny went on, "he must have been checking to see whether the coast was clear to let the Death Eaters out, because the moment he saw us he threw something into the air and it all went pitch-black - "

"Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder," Ron says bitterly. "You know, from Fred and George's shop. I'm going to have a word with them about who they let buy their products."

"Well, Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder is impossible to penetrate," I say. "Lumos, Incendio, nothing works. All you can do is let it pass or get out of there, so we had to grope our way out of the darkness to a corridor with light. Neville and I were in the next corridor over, you know for backup and to make sure nobody got in the way, but we couldn't see a thing either, and meanwhile we heard a bunch of people rushing past us. Obviously Malfoy was using that Hand of Glory to guide them. I tried cursing them a few times, and I managed to hit a few of the, but not many. By the time we'd reached a corridor with light, they were gone."

"Luckily," Remus says hoarsely. "Hazel, Neville, Ron, and Ginny ran into us almost immediately and told us what happened. We found the Death Eaters minutes later, heading in the direction of the Astronomy Tower. Malfoy obviously didn't expect so many people to be on the watch; he seemed to have exhausted his supply of Darkness Powder, at any rate. A fight broke out, they scattered, and we gave chase. One of them, Gibbon, broke away and headed up the tower stairs - "

"To set off the mark?" Harry asks.

"He must have done, yes, they must have arranged it before they left the Room of Requirement," Remus says. "But I don't think Gibbon liked the idea of waiting for Dumbledore alone, because he came running back down to rejoin the fight and was hit by a Killing Curse that almost hit me."

"So, if Ron, Hazel, Ginny, and Neville were keeping watch at the Room of Requirement," Harry says, turning to Hermione, "were you - ?"

"Outside Snape's office, yes," Hermione whispers, her eyes sparkling with tears, "with Luna. We hung around for ages outside it and nothing happened... we didn't know what was happening upstairs, they had the map. It was nearly midnight when Professor Flitwick came sprinting down into the dungeons. He was shouting about Death Eaters in the castle, I don't think he really registered that Luna and I were there at all, he just burst his way into Snape's office and we heard him saying that Snape had to go back with him and help, and then we hears a loud thump and Snape came hurtling out of the room and he saw us and - and - "

"What?" Harry urges her.

"I was so stupid, Harry," Hermione says in a high-pitched whisper. "He said Flitwick had collapsed and that we should go and take care of him while he - while he went to find the Death Eaters - " she covers her face with shame and continues to talk through her fingers, so that her voice is slightly muffled. "We went in to his office to see if we could help Professor Flitwick and found him unconscious on the floor... and, oh, it's so obvious now, Snape must have Stupified Flitwick, but we didn't realise, Harry, we didn't realise, we just let Snape go!"

"It's not your fault," Remus says firmly. "Hermione, have you not obeyed Snape and got out of the way, he probably would have killed you and Luna."

"So, then he came upstairs," Harry says, "and he found the place where you were all fighting..."

"We were in trouble, we were losing," Tonks says in hushed tones. "Gibbon was down, but the rest of the Death Eaters seemed ready to fight to the death. Neville had been hurt, Bill had been savaged by Greyback... it was all dark... curses were flying everywhere... then Malfoy vanished, he must have slipped past, up the stairs... then more of them an after him, but one of them blocked the stairs behind them with some sort of curse... Neville ran at it and got thrown up into the air - "

"None of us could break through," Ron says, "and that massive Death Eater was still firing jinxes all over the place, they were bouncing off the walls and barely missing us..."

"And then Snape was there," Tonks goes on, "and then he wasn't."

"I saw him running towards us, but then that huge Death Eater's jinx just missed me right afterwards and I ducked and lost track of things."

"I saw him run straight through the cursed barrier as though it wasn't there," Remus says. "I tried to follow him, but I was thrown back just like Neville..."

"He must've known a spell we didn't," McGonagall whispers. "After all - he was Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher... I just assumed he was in a hurry to chase after the Death Eaters who'd escaped up to the tower..."

"He was," Harry says savagely, "but to help them, not to stop them... and I'll bet you had to have a Dark Mark to get through that barrier - so what happened when he came back down?"

"Well, that big Death Eater had just fired off a hex that caused half the ceiling to cave in, and also broke the curse blocking the stairs," Remus replies. "We all ran forward - those of us who were still there and standing, anyway - and then Snape and the boy emerged out of the dust - obviously, none of us attacked them - "

"We just let them pass," Tonks says hollowly. "We thought they were being chased by Death Eaters - and then the next thing, the other Death Eaters and Greyback were back and we were fighting again - I thought I heard Snape shouting something, but I don't know what - "

"He shouted, 'It's over,'" Harry says. "He'd done what he had meant to do."

We all fall silent. Fawkes' lament is still echoing over the dark grounds outside. As the music plays across the grounds, I lower my head, looking down at my hands. I clasp them tightly together, not wanting to lose control at a time like this, in front of so many people. I feel oddly empty, hollow, as though something left with Dumbledore. My eyes flutter closed, and I want to fall inside the music, get lose in it forever and ever, but I seem stuck here.

The doors of the hospital wing burst open, making all of us jump. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are striding up the ward, Fleur just behind them, beautiful and terrified.

"Molly - Arthur - " McGonagall says, jumping up and hurrying to greet them. "I am so sorry - "

"Bill," whispers Mrs. Weasley, darting past McGonagall at the sight of her son's mangled face. "Oh, Bill!" Almost automatically, Tonks and Remus get up and retreat so that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley can get nearer to the bed. Mrs. Weasley bends over her son and presses a kiss to his bloody forehead.

"You said Greyback attacked him?" Mr. Weasley asks McGonagall distractedly. "But he hadn't transformed? So what does that mean? What will happen to Bill?"

"We don't know yet," McGonagall replies, looking helplessly at Remus.

"There will probably be some contamination, Arthur," Remus says again. "It is an odd case, possibly unique... we don't know what his behaviour will be like when he awakens." Mrs. Weasley takes the ointment from Madam Pomfrey and begins dabbing at Bill's wounds.

"And Dumbledore..." says Mr. Weasley. "Minerva, is it true? Is he really?"

McGonagall nods, just as I notice Ginny staring up at Fleur with slightly narrowed eyes, studying Fleur as she stares down at Bill with a frozen expression on her face.

"Dumbledore gone," Mr. Weasley whispers, but Mrs. Weasley only has eyes for her oldest son. She begins to sob, tears falling onto his mutilated face.

"Of course, it doesn't matter how he looks... it's not r-really important... but he was a very handsome little b-boy.. always very handsome.. and he was g-going to be married!"

"And what do you mean by zat?" Fleur says suddenly and loudly. "What do you mean, 'he was going to be married?'"

Mrs. Weasley raises her tear-stained face, looking startled. "Well - only that - "

"You theenk Bill will not wish to marry me anymore?" Fleur demands. "You theenk, because of these bites, he will not love me?"

"No, that's not what I - "

"Because 'e will!" Fleur says, drawing herself up to her full height and throwing back her long mane of silvery hair. "It will take more zan a werewolf to stop Bill loving me!"

"Well, yes, I'm sure," Mrs. Weasley says, "but I thought perhaps - given how - how he - "

"You theenk I would not wish to marry him? Or perhaps, you hoped?" Fleur says, nostrils flaring. "What do I care how he looks? I am good-looking enough for both for both of us, I theenk! All these scars show is zat my husband is brave! And I shall do zat!" she adds fiercely, pushing Mrs. Weasley aside and snatching the ointment from her.

Mrs. Weasley falls back against her husband and watches Fleur mop up Bill's wounds with a curious expression on her face. Nobody says anything. I don't even dare move. Like everyone else, I'm waiting for the explosion.

"Our Great-Auntie Muriel," Mrs. Weasley says, after a pause, her voice surprisingly soft, "has a very beautiful tiara - goblin-made - which I am sure I can persuade her to lend you for the wedding. She is very fond of Bill, you know, and it would look lovely with your hair."

"Thank you," Fleur says stiffly. "I am sure zat will be lovely."

And then, I don't quite see how it happens, but both women are crying and hugging each other. Completely bewildered and wondering whether the world has gone mad, I look around. Harry and Ron look as stunned as I feel and Hermione and Ginny are exchanging startled looks.

"You see," says a strained voice. Tonks is now glaring at Remus. "She will wants to marry him, even though he's been bitten! She doesn't care!"

"It's different," Remus says, barely moving his lips and suddenly looking tense. "Bill will not be a full werewolf. The circumstances are completely different - "

"But I don't care, either, I don't care!" Tonks says, seizing the front of Remus' robes and shaking them. "I've told you a million times..."

"And I've told you a million times," Remus says, refusing to meet her eyes and staring resolutely at the floor instead, "that I am too old for you, too poor... too dangerous..."

"I've said all along that you're taking a ridiculous line on this, Remus," Mrs. Weasley says over Fleur's shoulder as she pats her on the back.

"I am not being ridiculous," Remus says steadily. "Tonks deserves someone young and whole."

"But she wants you," Mr. Weasley says with a small smile. "And after all, Remus, young and whole men do not necessarily remain so."

He gestures sadly at his son, lying between them.

"This is... not the moment to discuss it," Remus says, avoiding everybody's eyes as he looks around distractedly. "Dumbledore... Dumbledore is dead..."

"Dumbledore would've been happier than anyone to think that there was a little more love in the world," McGonagall says curtly, just as the hospital wing doors open yet again and Hagrid enters. The little of his face that isn't obscured by his hair or his beard is soaking and swollen. He's shaking with tears, a vast, spotted handkerchief in his large hands.

"I've... I've done it, Professor," he chokes. "M-moved him. Professor Sprout's got the kids back in bed. Professor Flitwick's lyin' down, but he says he'll be alrigh' in a jiffy, an' Professor Slughorn says the Ministry's bin informed."

"Thank you, Hagrid," Professor McGonagall says, standing up at once and turning around to look at the group around Bill's bed. "I shall have to see the Ministry when they get here. Hagrid, please tell the Heads of Houses - Slughorn can represent Slytherin - that I want to see them in my office forthwith. I would like you to join us as well."

As Hagrid nods, turns, and shuffles out of the room again, McGonagall looks down at Harry. "Before I meet them I'd like a quick word with you, Harry. If you'll come with me..."

Harry stands, murmurs, "See you in a bit," to Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and I, and follows Professor McGonagall back down the ward. Once they're gone, a heavy silence falls upon the room. Remus and Tonks look at each other, then move away, as though they've suddenly come to their senses about what's just happened. I'll be damned if there isn't a follow-up to this outburst later, however, looking at them.

"What's going to happen?" Hermione whispers, suddenly looking terrified. "To us? To the school? To everyone?"

"I don't know," Remus admits. "There is a chance - a large one, at that - that they'll close down the school. At the very least, they will discuss it."

"But the students - what will they do?" Hermione asks.

"They'll go home, go to their families," Remus replies. "Some might go into hiding, depending on who they are. I wonder how many people would even be willing to send their children to Hogwarts after what's happened. Death Eaters in the castle, and now Dumbledore... Dumbledore's protection was the only thing that was keeping these parents from keeping their children at home. With Dumbledore, there's protection, there's safety... now he's gone. Even with protection, many will believe that Hogwarts is no safer than anywhere else... no more safer then their own homes, with their own families."

"He's right," Mr. Weasley says. "For many, it'll seem like the end is coming. And when it's time for the end, nobody quite cares about education. When it's time for the end, people want their loved ones with them. That's all that matters."

He looks down at Bill at that, a faraway expression on his face. Silence again, as I think about what Mr. Weasley's said. " _For many, it'll seem like the end is coming._ " I know it's not true, every logical part of my body is telling me that the world will not end, it will continue on well enough with or without Albus Dumbledore. Merlin, it certainly does not feel like the end is coming, though, and that we've no choice but to face it head on with nothing to help us.

Madam Pomfrey looks over at Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Luna, and I and says, "It's been a long night. How about you give go up to bed."

We're about to start arguing, when Tonks says, "She's right. It's been a rough night. I find rest tends to help."

"Yeah, go on," Mr. Weasley adds. "There's always tomorrow."

We exchange glances. It suddenly occurs to me just how tired I am, just how heavy the weight on my shoulders and back feels, and suddenly I don't want to argue about it. I'm curious about whether or not I'll even be able to sleep tonight, but I'm not opposed to trying, and judging by the look on the other's faces, they feel the same way. We all nod, get to our feet, bid them goodbye, and walk out of the ward together.

I wonder what will happen if we're confronted by a teacher. Would anyone confront us, scold us? Would even Filch care enough to give us a lecture for being in the corridor after curfew? The only one I can say for sure would do anything is Peeves. The whole lot of us could drop dead and he'd make a song making sun of us out of it. It doesn't matter, though, because the corridors are empty. We don't meet a single soul as we walk, not when we bid Luna goodbye when she departs for Ravenclaw, not on our way back to Gryffindor tower, not until we reach the portrait hole.

The Fat Lady looks at us anxiously and asks, "Is it true? Is Dumbledore really - ?"

We say nothing, just look at her as Ron mutters the password. She stares at us, but then swings forward with the utmost reluctance.

The common room, as I expected, is packed. It almost seems as though the addition of one more person could make the whole place explode. Or maybe it just seems like the place will explode either way without Dumbledore. I see Parvati and Lavender sitting together, which means our dormitory will be empty.

"Is Dumbledore really dead? Is it true?" someone from the crowd asks.

None of us speak, but I don't think we can ignore the whole lot of them, so I finally speak up.

"Yeah," I say hollowly. "He is." I can sense them about to ask more questions, so I quickly give them the basics: that Death Eaters had entered the castle, that we had fought them, and that Snape had killed Dumbledore and left with the other Death Eaters. "If there's anything else you need to know, you'll know it soon enough. I expect the teachers'll make some sort of announcement soon enough."

Nobody says anything, and we take it as our cue to be able to leave. We all step forward, and almost immediately, the crowd parts to let us through, everyone dead silent. Hermione, Ginny, and I mutter a "Goodnight" to Ron, which he returns, and then we're hurrying up the girls' dormitory. When Ginny reaches the door labelled 'fifth year' she stops, hesitates, looks over at us.

She looks conflicted about something, so I ask, "Something up, Ginny?"

"A lot of things are up," she says. "But right now I'm debating whether I want to be alone."

"Well, if you don't take up too much room, you can stay with us," I say. "Lavender and Parvati won't mind, especially not tonight."

"Really?" she asks.

"Yeah, really," Hermione says, smiling weakly. "Come on."

"Give me a sec," she says, then walks into her dormitory, closing the door. She emerges a moment later, dressed in pyjamas.

Together, we walk into the door labelled "Sixth Years." The dormitory is as blissfully empty as I had expected. Hermione and I get ready for bed silently, and then collapse into our respective beds. Ginny slips into my bed beside me, pulling the covers up to her chin. We both lie on our backs, staring up at the scarlet canvas of my four-poster.

"Can you believe it?" Hermione whispers, but in the silence, it's as loud as a scream. "Dumbledore dead. Out of anybody I thought he would have outlived this war. I thought he'd outlive all of us."

"And Hogwarts might close," Ginny says softly. "Hogwarts closed, I can't even imagine it."

"Remus has a point, though," Hermione says worriedly. "How many people are going to want to send their kids here without Dumbledore to protect them? To most people, he was the only difference between the protection they could get at school and the protection they could get - well, anywhere else."

"I don't know if I'm more scared for it to close or to stay open," I say. "But I'm starting to wonder whether it'll matter either way."

"How do you mean?" Hermione asks, and I can hear the frown in her voice.

"It's like you said," I reply. "Dumbledore was really the only difference between protection at school and protection anywhere else. Whether Hogwarts closes or not, we're not in any less danger. Nowhere is safe."

It tears at me to realise that the place I had considered a home, a haven for so long can no longer be that for me, but the truth is staring me right in the face, and I can't ignore it. Regardless, I still stare up at the scarlet canvas and wonder if I'll see it again after this month.

"They might as well keep the school open, then, if we've all got nothing to lose, and whoever wants to show up can," Ginny says heavily.

"I just don't see how they can do it," Hermione insists. "The school's been open for centuries, and it's never closed before. It'd be wrong to do it now."

"It might depend on how many teachers choose to stay," I point out. "There are some teachers I can't imagine leaving unless they're being forced to. Like Hagrid and McGonagall and even Filch and Trelawney, since I don't think they've got anywhere to go besides here. And if they can figure out what to do about  - about replacing Dumbledore."

"That might be it," Hermione says thoughtfully.

Silence falls upon the room, heavy and tense, while each person swims within their own thoughts and I do my best not to drown in them. Finally, though, I break the silence.

"We should try to sleep," I say, though I'll be surprised if any of us manage it. I close the curtains around my four-poster, as does Hermione. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Hermione and Ginny say in unison, and I wonder vaguely why we all feel the need to speak so quietly when it's just us in the room.

As I expected, I don't sleep at all. I can't toss and turn so much with Ginny beside me, so I lie mostly still, still staring up at that scarlet canvas. Ginny's curled up in a ball beside me, her eyes closed, but I can tell she's awake. Her body's too tense for her to be asleep.

I feel oddly alone as I lie in bed. I know it's an irrational feeling, with Ginny right beside me and Hermione in the bed nearby and a load of people in the common room below, but I can't quite shake the feeling. It feels as though I'm alone, with thousands of miles of distance on all sides from another living person. Dumbledore's nearby, having fallen from the sky recently and landed not far off, weak and fragile and broken, but he's dead, he's gone, he's left us all alone. I can't see him, either, as though he's invisible. Or as though he's fading.

Through this odd sensation, I have to wonder who will return to Hogwarts if it stays open and who won't. Not many Muggle-borns will return, and I don't blame them... the Patil twins won't, they've just barely been convincing their parents to let them stay and I imagine this will be the last straw... Seamus might not, he has been arguing with his mother over this for a few weeks now...

It occurs to me while I'm running through all of this in my head that Harry probably won't be returning to Hogwarts either. He'll want to go finish what Dumbledore started. To find the Horcruxes, destroy them, and bring down Voldemort. He'll go into hiding, disappear for God knows how long... and if he does this, then I'll go along with him. I'm the only one who knows about it, along with Ron and Hermione, and Harry will need all the help he can get. Ron and Hermione will probably come along, too, and it'll be the four of us, just how it often seems to be.

The four of us, trying to find the Horcruxes with no clear way to know how to find them. The four of us, trying to figure out how to destroy it without nearly enough information on Horcruxes to even know where to begin. The four of us, trying to bring down the most powerful dark wizard of all time. The four of us trying to figure this mess out, because the only person who knew all the answers has left us to figure it out ourselves with no clear sense of direction.


	26. The Funeral

**Distance Means Nothing**

**Chapter Twenty-Six: The Funeral**

 

All lessons are suspended, all examinations postponed. Some students are hurried away from Hogwarts by their parents over the next couple of days. The Patil twins, as I had predicted, were gone before breakfast on the morning following Dumbledore's death, and Zacharias Smith was escorted from the castle by his haughty-looking father. Seamus Finnigan, on the other hand, refused point-blank to return home with his mother; they had a shouting match in the Entrance Hall that was finally resolved with his mother agreeing that he could remain for the funeral. I know Seamus' mother will have difficulty finding a bed on Hogsmeade, though, because wizards and witches from all over are pouring into the village, preparing to pay their last respects to Dumbledore.

Some excitement is caused among the younger students, who have never seen it before, when a powder-blue carriage the size of a house, pulled by a dozen giant-winged palominos comes soaring out of the sky in the late afternoon before the funeral and lands at the edge of the forest. As I've seen this before, I feel dread as opposed to excitement, remembering for what they are. I watch from a window as a gigantic and handsome olive-skinned, black-haired woman descends the carriage steps and throws herself into Hagrid's waiting arms. Meanwhile, a delegation of Ministry officials, including the Minister for Magic himself, is being accommodated within the castle. We diligently avoid contact with them, knowing that the minute they see Harry, they'll ask him about the night Dumbledore died.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and I are spending all of our time together. The beautiful weather seems to be here to mock us. I think about what it would be like if Dumbledore had not died, our examinations finished, the pressure of homework and tests lifted, the mood joyful and free, instead of miserable and subdued.

We visit the hospital wing twice a day. Neville has already been discharged, but Bill still remains in the hospital wing under Madam Pomfrey's care. His scars are as bad as ever, and I see what Remus was talking about when he said that they would never heal fully. Truthfully, he bears a resemblance to Mad-Eye Moody now, though with both of his eyes and legs, though his personalty is the same as ever. All that appears to be different is that he has a taste for rare steaks.

"... so eet ees lucky 'e is marrying," Fleur says happily, plumping up Bill's pillows, "because ze British overcook their meat, I 'ave always said this."

"I suppose I'm just going to have to accept that he really is going to marry her," Ginny sighs, later that evening as she, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I sit beside the open window of the Gryffindor common room, looking over at the twilit grounds.

"She's not that bad," Harry says, saying what I'm thinking. "Ugly, though," he adds, when Ginny raises her eyebrows, and she lets out a reluctant giggle.

"Well, I suppose if Mum can stand it, I can."

"Anyone else we know died?" Ron asks Hermione, who's reading the  _Evening Prophet._

Hermione winces at the forced toughness in Ron's voice.

"No," she replies, folding up the paper. "They're still looking for Snape, but no sign..."

"Of course there isn't," Harry says, suddenly angry. "They won't find Snape until they find Voldemort, and seeing they've never managed to do that after all this time..."

"I'm going to bed," Ginny yawns. "I haven't been sleeping that well since... well... I could do with some sleep."

She kisses Harry (Ron looks away very pointedly), waves at Ron, Hermione, and I, and departs for the girls' dormitories. The moment the door closes behind Ginny, Hermione leans forward towards Harry with a very Hermione-ish look on her face.

"Harry, I found something out this morning, in the library..."

"R.A.B.?" Harry asks, sitting up straight.

Harry had shown Hermione and I R.A.B.'s note the morning after Dumbledore's death, dictating that the Horcrux is fake and that R.A.B., whoever they are, intends to destroy it before he dies. Hermione and I don't recognise the initials, but Hermione has since been spending more time at the library than what's strictly necessary for someone with no homework to do.

"No," she says sadly, "I've been trying, Harry, but I haven't found anything... there are a couple of reasonably well-known wizards with those initials - Rosaline Antigone Buggs - Rupert "Axebanger" Brookstanton... but they don't seem to fit at all. Judging by that note, the person who wrote it knew Voldemort, and I can't find a shred of evidence that Buggs or Brookstanton had anything to do with him... no, actually, it's about... well, Snape."

She looks nervous even saying the name again.

 _Snape,_ I think in the back of my mind,  _the new Voldemort. Imagine Snape's joy..._

"What about him?" Harry asks heavily, sinking back in his chair.

"Well, it's just that I was sort of right about this Half-Blood business," Hermione replies tentatively.

"D'you have to rub it in, Hermione?" Harry demands. Harry had also informed us of the fact that the Half-Blood Prince had actually been Snape all this time, and looks like he's regretting it right now. "How do you think I feel about all that now?"

"No - no - Harry, I didn't mean that!" Hermione says hastily, looking around to make sure that we're not being overheard. "It's just that I was right about Eileen Prince once owning the book. You see... she was Snape's mother!"

"Thought she wasn't much of a looker," Ron says, and Hermione ignores him.

"I was going through the rest of the old  _Prophets_ and there was a tiny announcement about Eileen Prince marrying a man called Tobias Snape, and then an announcement saying that she'd given birth to a - "

"Murderer," Harry spits.

"Well... yes," Hermione agrees. "So... I was sort of right. Snape must have been proud of being 'half a prince,' you see? Tobias Snape was a Muggle from what it said in that article."

"Yeah, that fits," Harry says, while I think that my description of Snape as the new Voldemort just got shockingly more accurate. "He'd play up the Pure-blood so that he could get in with Lucius Malfoy and the rest of them... he's just like Voldemort. Pure-blood mother, Muggle father... ashamed of his parentage, trying to make himself feared using the Dark Arts, gave himself an impressive new name - Lord Voldemort - the Half-Blood Prince - how could Dumbledore have missed - "

Harry breaks off, looking over at the window again. We all dwell upon Dumbledore's seemingly blind trust in Snape, but as Hermione had just indirectly pointed out, we had been fooled by him, too. We had trusted him and relief on him as the Half-Blood Prince. All of us except for Hermione, really.

"I still don't get why he didn't turn you in for using that book," Ron says. "He must've known where you were getting it all from."

"He knew," Harry says bitterly. "He didn't really need Legilimency... he might even have known before then, with Slughorn talking about how brilliant I am at Potions... shouldn't have left his book in the bottom of that cupboard, should he?"

"But why didn't he turn you in?"

"He probably didn't want people to know the book had been his," I say. "I mean, it'd be hard for him to turn you in without admitting the book had been his, and Dumbledore wouldn't be happy to know that Snape had come up with spells like Sectumsempra. And even if Snape tried to pretend the book wasn't his, Slughorn probably would've recognised his handwriting. And his book was left in Snape's old classroom, and Dumbledore probably knew that this Eileen Prince woman was Snape's mother, so he would've been digging his own grave by turning you in."

"I should've shown the book to Dumbledore," Harry says. "All this time he was showing me how evil Voldemort was while he was at school, and I had proof Snape was, too - "

"'Evil' is a strong word," Hermione says quietly.

"You were the one who kept telling me the book is dangerous!"

"I'm trying to say, Harry, that you're putting too much blame on yourself. I thought the Prince seemed to have a nasty sense of humour, but I never would have guessed that he was a potential murderer..."

"I don't think any of us could ever have guessed that Snape would... you know," Ron says.

Silence falls again, and we're all left to our own thoughts. However, I'm sure that they're thinking, just as I am, about the following morning, when Dumbledore's body will be laid to rest. I never realised until now that I've never been to a funeral before. I have no idea what ti expect, and I'm worried and even a little bit scared of what I'll see, what I'll feel. I wonder whether the fact that he's dead will sink in as reality to me afterwards. Surely it will; after all, funerals were not only there to lay the body to rest, but to allow the truth to sink in to all those attending, were they not? Funerals were for the living as much as they were for the dead. There are moments where the horrible fact of his death threatens to overwhelm me, and moments where, in spite of the fact that nobody in the castle seems to be able to talk about anything else, it still does not seem possible for Albus Dumbledore to be dead.

The next morning, just as always since his death, I wake up just before sunrise. I sleep uneasily now, always waking up at different points of the night. I've begun to notice a pattern: I wake up first just before one thirty, then again at quarter past two, then once more just before three o'clock, then again at quarter to five, and then again just before sunrise. This time, I don't attempt to go back to sleep for a few more hours, nor do I stare blankly up at the scarlet canvas of my four poster. This time, I get up out of bed, deciding I might as well make sure I have everything in my trunk, as the Hogwarts Express will arrive an hour after the funeral.

Later, down in the Great Hall, the mood is very subdued. Everybody is wearing dress robes and nobody seems very hungry. Today McGonagall has left the throne-like chair in the middle of the staff table empty. Hagrid's chair is also empty, and I wonder if he just hadn't been able to face breakfast today. Snape's place, however, has been taken unceremoniously by Rufus Scrimgeour, the Minister for Magic. Among Scrimgeour's entourage, I spot Percy Weasley, red-haired and wearing his usual horn-rimmed glasses, Ron gives no indication of seeing Percy, other than stabbing pieces of kipper with more aggression than is altogether necessary.

Over at the Slytherin table, Crabbe and Goyle are muttering to each other. Though they are large, hulking boys, they seem to be lost without the tall, pale figure of Malfoy sitting between them. I realise then that I haven't spared Malfoy much thought. Regardless of what Malfoy would probably say if he was here for me to tell him, I suspect that he wouldn't have killed Dumbledore. I still hate Malfoy, but I can't help but pity him a bit, all the same. I wonder where he is now, and what Voldemort is making him do under the threat of killing him and his parents.

My thoughts are interrupted when I notice the mournful hum of the Great Hall cease. I look round, confused as to why, and see McGonagall rise to her feet.

"It is nearly time," she says. "Please follow your Heads of House out onto the grounds. Gryffindors, after me."

We file out from behind our benches in near silence. I get a glimpse of Slughorn near the Slytherin table, wearing magnificent dress robes of emerald green, embroidered with silver. I look down at my own black dress and wonder if it's considered a sign of disrespect to wear anything other than black to a funeral in the wizard world, just as it is in the Muggle world. Then I realise that Dumbledore wouldn't have cared either way, and push the question from my mind. I've never seen Professor Sprout look so clean; there is not a single patch on her hat. When we reach the Entrance Hall, we find Madam Pince standing next to Filch, she in a thick black veil that falls to her knees, and he in an ancient black suit and tie that reeks of mothballs.

We're heading, I see when I step out onto the stone steps from the front doors, towards the lake. The sun warms my skin as we follow Professor McGonagall in silence to the place where hundreds of chairs had been set in rows. An aisle runs down the centre of it. There is a marble table standing at the front, all chairs facing it. It's a beautiful summer day, the Great Lake shimmering from the sun.

A wide variety of people have already settled into half of the chairs: shabby and smart, old and young. Most people I do not recognise, but some I do, including members of the Order of the Phoenix: Kingsley Shacklebolt, Mad-Eye Moody, Tonks, whose hair has miraculously returned to its vividest pink, Remus, who, I notice with something close to a smile, seems to be holding hands with Tonks, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Bill, who's supported by Fleur, and followed by Fred and George, who are wearing jackets of black dragonskin. The moment I see Fred, I want to hurry over to him, I want to be near him, I want him to make things magically better the way he seems to always do, but I can't, for there are people all around him, and all around me. He does not see me, and I decide it's for the best: this is a funeral, there are other things for me to focus on.

Then there's Madam Maxime, taking up two-and-a-half chairs, then Tom, the landlord of the Leaky Cauldron, Arabella Figg, Harry and my Squib neighbour, the hairy bass player from the Weird Sisters, Ernie, the driver of the Knight Bus, Madam Malkin, of the robe shop in Diagon Alley. There are a few people I know merely by sight, such as the barman from the Hog's Head and the witch who pushes the trolley on the Hogwarts Express. The castle ghosts are present, too, barely visible in the bright sunlight, only visible when they move, shimmering insubstantially in the gleaming air.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and I file into the end of a row beside the lake. People are whispering to each other, and it sounds like a breeze in the grass, but the birdsong overwhelms it. The crowd continues to swell, and I see, with a rush of affection, Luna being helped into a chair by Neville. I often think about the fact that they had been the only ones in the D.A. to reply to Hermione's summons that night, and I now know why. They had missed the D.A. the most, had probably frequently checked their coins in hopes that there would be another meeting. They had been the only ones among the D.A. to help us last year, and they had done it again without hesitation.

Cornelius Fudge, the former Minister for Magic, walks past us towards the front rows, looking miserable and twirling his green bowler hat as usual; I next recognise Rita Skeeter, who I'm furious but not surprised to see clutching a notebook in her hands; and worse yet, I see Dolores Umbridge, wearing an unconvincing expression of grief on her toad-like face, a black velvet bow sitting on the iron-coloured curls. At the sight of the Centaur Firenze, she gives a start and hurries over to sit in a seat a good distance away. The staff sits down last. I can see Scrimgeour looking grave and dignified, sitting in the front row with McGonagall. I look at Scrimgeour and wonder whether any of these important Ministry people are actually sorry that Dumbledore is dead. But then I hear  music, strange and otherworldly, and I forget my distrust of the Ministry to search for the source of it. I'm not the only one: many people are looking around, searching, looking a little alarmed.

And then I see them in the clear sunlit water. A chorus of merpeople are singing in a language that I don't understand, their pallid faces rippling, their purplish hair flowing all around them. The music makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up, and yet, oddly enough, it's not unpleasant. I don't understand what they're saying, but it's clear they're singing about loss and despair. I look at the faces of each of the merpeople and think that at least they genuinely feel sorry for Dumbledore's death.

Then Ron nudges me. I look over and see Hagrid walking up the aisle between the chairs. He's crying almost silently, his face gleaming with tears, and in his arms, wrapped in purple velvet spangled with golden stars, he carries what I know to be Dumbledore's body. Suddenly, I understand why he couldn't bring himself to go to breakfast. A sharp, tight pain rises from my throat at the sight, and I shiver. The strange music and the knowledge that Dumbledore's body, Dumbledore's dead body, is so close takes all the warmth from the day. Harry and Ron look pale and shocked. Tears are falling thick and fast onto both Hermione and Ginny's laps. I do not cry. I wish I could, I want to, I want some way to let out a tsunami of emotions inside of me, my eyes even sting like tears are about to fall, but still I do not cry. Grief and sadness and despair rushes up my throat like bile, but tears refuse to fall from my eyes.

I can't see what's happening in front clearly. Hagrid seems to have placed Dumbledore carefully on the table. Now he retreats down the aisle, blowing his nose with trumpet noises that draws scandalised looks from some, including Dolores Umbridge, but I know Dumbledore would not have cares, just as he could not have cared about the colour of Slughorn's robes. I smile weakly when Hagrid passes, but his eyes are so swollen that it's a wonder he can see where he's going. I glance at the back row to which Hagrid is heading and realise what's guiding him, for there, dressed in a jacket and trousers each the size of a small marquee, is Hagrid's giant of a half-brother, Grawp, his great boulder-like head bowed, docile, human. Hagrid sits next to his half-brother and Grawp pats him on the head, so hard that his chair legs sink into the ground. It reminds me of what Hagrid's like with us. For a split second, I have the wonderful urge to laugh, but then the music stops, and the feeling passes, and I turn around to face the front again.

A little, tufty-haired man in plain black robes had gotten to his feet and now stands in front of Dumbledore's body. I can't hear what he's saying. Odd words float over to us, such as, "Nobility of spirit... intellectual contribution... greatness of heart." All in all, it does not seem to mean very much. I have never been to a funeral, but there does seem to be a set of generic things you say when you speak at one, and the things this man seems to be saying is among them. I remember Dumbledore's idea of a speech: "Nitwit! Oddment! Blubber! Tweak!" and almost smile. What's wrong with me? I should not be able to smile during a funeral.

There's a soft splashing noise to my left and see that the merpeople have surfaced to hear what this man has to say. I remember Dumbledore crouching close to the water's edge two years ago, conversing in Mermish with the Merchieftainess. I wonder vaguely where he had learned Mermish. There are so many things I don't know about him, so many things I'm sure nobody present knows about him, and now none of us ever will... and suddenly I become angry, become angry at this man still speaking up at the front, because how much does he truly know about Dumbledore? What gives him enough knowledge to stand in front of us and tell us the basic, generic facts that we already knew about Dumbledore? I had thought earlier, that funerals were for the dead and the living in equal part, but now it seems clear to me that funerals are much more for the living than any dead person, especially when it's somebody like Dumbledore who's died.

Because Dumbledore  _is_ dead. It appears that I don't have to wait until the end of the funeral, because the horrible truth sweeps over me and sinks in, more powerfully and undeniably than ever before. Dumbledore is dead, he's gone, and he's not coming back. I look away quickly, staring out over the lake, towards the Forest, as this little man in black drones on and on... there is movement among the trees. The centaurs have come to pay their respects. They do not move into the open, but I see them standing quite still, half-hidden in shadow, watching the wizards gathered with their bows at their sides.

The little man in black stops speaking at last and resumes his seat. I wait for someone else to get to their feet, for speeches to be made, presumably from the Minister for Magic, but nobody rises. Then several people scream. Bright, white flames erupt around Dumbledore's body and the table where he lies. They rise higher and higher, obscuring the body. White smoke spirals in the air and makes strange shapes. For one heart-stopping moment, I think I see a phoenix fly happily into the sky, but then the next second the fire has vanished. In its place is a white marble tomb, encasing the body and the table on which he had rested. There are a few more cries of shock as a shower of arrows soar through the air, but they fall far short of the crowd. I know it to be the centaurs' tribute, for I see them turn tail and disappear back into the trees. Similarly, the merpeople sink slowly back into the green water and are lost from view. People start to get to their feet.

I look over at Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. Harry looks pale and haunted, Ron's face is screwed up as though the sunlight is blinding him, Hermione's face is glazed with tears, but Ginny is no longer crying, a hard, blazing look on her face instead. I find it in me that I can't stand to look at them, to be here with so many people around me.

"Excuse me," I mutter almost inaudibly, get to my feet, walk away as quickly as I can, intending to walk around the lake for a time. I stop soon, looking out over the lake, at the sparkling green waters and the Forest in turn, thinking about the merpeople and the centaurs as I do. It's a warm day, and the sun is shining on my skin, but I feel no warmth. I avoid looking at the tomb, frightened of what will come over me if I do.

Soon, Remus walks up to me, his hands in his shabby black dress robes as he does. "Do you mind if I join you?"

"Not at all," I reply, gesturing for him to stand by me. Desperately wanting something to say, I state, "Erm - you and Tonks seem to have worked things out."

He smiles, breathing out a laugh at this.

"Yes, we've talked it out," he says, looking down at the floor before turning his gaze to the lake. "I think I'm going to marry her."

"That's quite a change of heart," I say, rather weakly. "I'm happy for you, Remus. Really. You deserve a bit of happiness."

"Thank you," Remus says, and he does not smile, but he still appears to be genuinely happy.

I look at the expression on his face, how he looks happy at this funeral without disrespect, how he has not gone mad, and without thinking, I say, "Remus, I think there might be something wrong with me."

"Why do you think that?"

"During the funeral, I kept thinking about things, funny things that Dumbledore had said, or looking over at Hagrid with his half-brother, and I almost smiled and laughed, and... and shouldn't I not do that? Shouldn't I not be like that? Isn't it wrong? How can I be like that when Dumbledore - when he's  _dead_?"

He looks at me for a long time, thoughtfully, as though studying me. Then, he says, slowly, carefully, "Hazel, I want to make it plain that there is  _nothing_ wrong with you. Funerals are to respect, celebrate, and mourn the dead to put them to rest. But it's also for the living to reflect on life. Not just the life of the dead person, but also on their own, on everyone's life, on life itself. And what is life without laughter? And as I've learned recently," Remus glances over at Tonks briefly, before turning back to me, "Dumbledore would be thrilled to know that there is more happiness and love and laughter in the world."

I nod once, looking out over the lake, thinking over what he's said. I glance over at Dumbledore's tomb, but the sight of it does not break me like I had expected. It solidifies a decision that I had been thinking about for ages: the decision to visit my parents' graves. But looking around at all the people gathered, and then at Remus again, I realise that this is not something I have to do alone, nor is it something I want to do alone. Looking at Remus, who knew my parents better than anyone, who just seems to understand without even being told, I can't think of anyone else I would like to accompany me. Still, I can't look at him as I say it, so I look out over the lake again.

I don't know how to say it, so I decide to be upfront.

"I want to visit my parents' graves."

I say it calmly, serenely, as though this has been a fact for a long time now. Remus says nothing for a long time. I do not look at him, staring out over the horizon, but I can tell that he's shocked. I suppose I am dropping a load of bricks on him with this announcement, so I can't blame him.

"Well," he finally says, "you are seventeen, you are of age, and even if you weren't, they were your parents. If this is something you want to do, I won't deny you the opportunity - "

"I wasn't asking your permission, Remus," I say calmly.

"Then what are you saying?" he asks carefully.

"I was asking," I say, finally looking over at him, "if you'll come with me."

He's silent for a long time, looking shocked, overwhelmed at my words. A wave of guilt crashes over me. Remus had known my parents better than anyone. They had been his best friends. What right did I have to ask him to visit the solid proof that they're dead and gone? Who am I to ask him to relive all that pain, simply because I didn't want to be alone?

"I was just asking," I say quickly. "I understand if you don't want to, that's totally fine - "

"No!" he says. "It's not that. I'm just surprised that you'd want me of all people to come with you."

"Well, yes, you," I say, frowning slightly. "Of course, you. You knew my parents better than anyone. I can't think of anyone who'd understand it better than you. Who else  _but_ you?"

"Well, in that case," he says, "I'd be honoured to accompany you."

"Thank you, Remus," I say with a small smile. "I really appreciate it."

To my surprise, he moves forward to hug me. The action takes me by surprise, since it isn't often that Remus is physically affectionate. I hug him back all the same.

"I love you, Hazel," he says. "Remember that."

"I love you, too, Remus," I say, meaning it more than he knows.

When we pull away, we see Tonks standing by herself, twirling her wand absently in her hands.

When I see Remus looking longingly at her, I say, "Go to her, go on. You should be with her at a time like this."

"But are you sure you will - ?" he begins, looking round at me.

"I'll be fine, you know me," I reply, pushing him away lightly. "Now go on.  _Go!_ " I urge him, when he moves slowly and looks over at me repeatedly.

He nods once and moves away once and for all. I watch him as he goes to join Tonks, before looking around. I see Harry walking away from a still seated Ginny, both of them looking upset. I also see Ron holding Hermione and stroking her hair while she sobbed into his shoulder, tears dripping from the end of his own long nose. I decide to leave them be for now, and turn away to look at the lake again.

It's not long before someone puts their hands on my shoulders, and I jump, my hand flying to my wand. But then they kiss the top of my head and say, "Hi, love," and I relax, recognising them to be Fred. I lean into him, letting out a sigh of relief.

"You okay?" he asks me quietly.

"Been better," I reply honestly. "You?"

"Been better," he says, mimicking me.

I nudge him, turning around to face him. Automatically, I take his hands in mine. He moves my hands over to his mouth and presses feather light kisses along them, and I watch him, mesmerised.

"I heard what happened," he murmurs against my hands. "'Course I did, everyone has. But I heard what you did, saving Bill and all. Thank you. I can't thank you enough."

"It was nothing," I say faintly. "Nothing nobody else would've done."

"But you're still the only one who did it," he insists, lowering my hands. "Honestly, you're a bloody superhero sometimes, you know that, Knight?"

"What exactly is my superpower, then?" I ask, raising my eyebrows. "Because whatever it is, I don't think it's working properly."

"Oh, that's simple," he says, grinning wickedly. "It's your ability to always tell me and George apart and your dead clumsiness."

I look at him for a long time. For a split second, I think I'm finally going to cry. But, no, I start laughing instead. I'm laughing and it feels nice, feels right, to be standing here and laughing with Fred. I try to stifle my laughter, not thinking that it'd be very respectful to laugh loudly at a funeral. He grins, relieved, and then starts laughing himself. I bury my head in his chest to stifle my laughter further, wrapping my arms around him. I can feel his body shaking from laughter, feel him kiss the top of my head again.

"There you are, Knight," he murmurs. I pull away and look up at him at that, calming down.

"I missed you," I inform him. "A lot. I'm really glad you're here. I thought I was going to go mad..."

"Fear no more, then," Fred says. "I missed you, too. Everything's better when you're here - even this," he gestures around. "And I'm glad to be back in the castle with you. Brings back memories of... easier times."

"Oh? Like when I pretended to drown and scared you and George both?" I ask, smiling.

"I thought we agreed to never talk about that," Fred says indignantly.

"We never agreed on anything of the sort," I say. "I think that one happened in your head."

"Oh," Fred says. "Still, let's not talk about it. I can't believe we fell for that... anyway, nah, I was thinking more about last year during Easter break... you know, when I gave you your early birthday present? Or do you not remember?"

"Only vaguely," I reply mysteriously, though that's a lie. I remember the whole thing vividly, and the smile on my face gives me away completely.

"Liar," he says, smiling and pulling me closer to him again, kissing my nose. "I knew you remembered!"

"Yeah, yeah," I say, "don't rub it in."

"'Fraid I can't do that," Fred retorts. "Rubbing things in is what I'm best at."

Smiling and shaking my head, I look away from him, and almost automatically, he starts kissing along my face lightly. I frown slightly when I see Harry walking and talking with Scrimgeour, and I see Ron and Hermione, looking as concerned as I feel. I decide it's time for me to join them, but I find myself reluctant to leave the one person who best knows how to make me feel better, the one person who can comfort me best.

Regardless, I still manage to force myself to say, "I should go. Friends need me and all."

"If you must," he says with the utmost reluctance, kissing my temple. "Which, I suppose, you do."

I turn to face him again and give him an apologetic look.

"I'll see you soon, though," I insist. "Like, really soon. I promise."

For a moment, he stays silent. Then he says, smiling, before kissing my forehead, "Yeah. Yeah, you will."

When he pulls away, I look at him one last time, seeing the sunlight hit him in a way that makes him look almost impossibly beautiful. The light's made his eyes look golden and his hair look like flames. Unable to help myself, I fling my arms around him and hug him tightly as I can, as though I'd lose him forever if I dare loosen my grip. He's shocked, but then he relaxes and hugs me back just as tightly. I think about all the people we've lost over the years, and nearly lose control completely at the thought of losing Fred. I start shaking slightly and my eyes sting with tears, and it's only then that I realise that the reason I haven't cried yet is because I'm frightened I'll never stop if I do, so I blink them back best as I can.

The sun is still shining brightly on us, and the bird song is as loud and insistent as ever, and a breeze has started blowing. The breeze blows about my dress and the leaves on the trees and the grass below our feet, singing its own sort of song, soft and subtle, only there is you pay attention, and as I hold on to Fred more tightly and bury my head in the crook of his neck, I mentally beg for him to not leave me.

"Please, please don't," I whisper, almost inaudible to my own ears, and he doesn't respond, so I assume he hasn't heard me, and my words are lost to the wind.

When we pull away, I give him one last weak smile, before letting him go and turning away, already wanting to jump back into his arms. I see Scrimgeour walk away from Harry after one last glare. Ahead of Scrimgeour is Percy and the rest of his Ministry entourage, casting nervous glances at a sobbing Hagrid and Grawp, who are still in their seats. I silently wish for Hagrid and Grawp to give them a real reason to be nervous, but then push the thought from my mind. A little way's off, Ron and Hermione are also walking over to Harry. He sees us catching up to him, turns away, slowing his pace, allowing us to catch up. We finally do when he reaches the shade of the large beech tree, under which we've sat in happier times.

"What did Scrimgeour want?" Hermione whispers.

"Same as he wanted as Christmas," Harry shrugs. "Wanted inside information on Dumbledore and for me to become the Ministry's new poster boy."

Ron seems to struggle with himself for a moment, then says loudly to Hermione, "Look, let me go back and hit Percy!"

"No," Hermione says firmly, grabbing his arm.

"It'll make me feel better!" Harry and I laugh.

Even Hermione allows herself a grin, though it fades from her face when looks up at the castle.

"I can't bear the idea that we might never come back," Hermione says softly. "How can Hogwarts close?"

"It might not," Ron points out. "We're not in any more danger here than we are at home, are we? Everywhere's the same now. I'd even say Hogwarts is safer, there are more witches and wizards to defend the place. What d'you reckon, Harry, Hazel?"

"I'm not going back even if it does reopen," Harry replies.

Ron gapes at him, but I'm not surprised, as I'd suspected he might say this. Hermione looks at him sadly but not in surprise, saying, "I knew you'd say that. But what will you do?"

"I'm going back to the Dursleys' once more, because Dumbledore wanted me to," Harry says. "But it'll be a short visit, and then I'm gone for good."

At his words, it hits me that I'll be leaving the Martins once and for all this summer. A younger version of me would jump for joy at the realisation, and it is a relief, I am happy, but I can't help but feel a heavy, sinking sensation at the thought.

"But where will you go if you don't come back to school?"

"I think I'll go to Godric's Hollow," he answers. "For me, it started there, all of it. I've just got a feeling I need to go there. And I'll visit my parents' graves, I'd like that."

"And then what will you do?"

"And then I've got to track down all the Horcruxes, haven't I?" Harry relies, his eyes on Dumbledore's white tomb. "That's what he wanted me to do, that's why he told me all about them. If Dumbledore was right - and I'm sure he was - there are still four of them out there. I've got to find them and destroy them, and then I've got to find the seventh bit of Voldemort's soul, the bit that's still in his body, and I'm the one who's got to kill him. And if I meet Severus Snape along the way," he adds, "so much the better for me, so much the worse for him."

There's a long silence. Most of the crowd has dispersed now, the stragglers giving the monumental figure of Grawp a wide berth as he cuddles Hagrid, whose howls of grief can echo across the water.

"We'll be there, Harry," Ron says simply.

"What?"

"At your aunt and uncle's," Ron replies. "And then we'll go with you, wherever you're going."

"No - " Harry says quickly, clearly not having anticipated this, and I don't understand why. Hasn't he realised by now that we're in this together?

"C'mon, Harry, you really think you won't need any help finding and destroying all these Horcruxes?" I ask, raising my eyebrows. "You may be the Chosen One, but you still don't have to do it all by yourself. We're here for you, mate."

"You said to us once before," Hermione says quietly, when Harry looks as though he's about to keep protesting, "that there was a time to turn back if we wanted to. Well, we've had time, haven't we?"

"We're with you whatever happens," Ron says firmly. "But, mate, you've got to come round my mum and dad's house before we do anything, even Godric's Hollow."

"Why?"

"Bill and Fleur's wedding, remember?"

I look at Ron, slightly startled. The fact that something like a wedding could still exist in such dark times is odd, unbelievable, yet still perhaps the most wonderful thing I've heard in ages.

"Yeah, we shouldn't miss that," Harry says finally.

I look around, over at the horizon, and see Fred and George are still present, standing together. George catches my eye and winks, and I smile back at him. Fred looks around to see what his twin is looking at and, upon seeing me, smiles at me, a big, genuine smile that makes my own smile widen uncontrollably. I raise a hand slowly and wave, before turning back to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. In spite of everything that's happened, in spite of the dark, twisting road we'll soon go on, in spite of the danger we've encountered and the danger to come, my heart can't help but lift a little at the thought of one more golden day of peace with the people I care about most in the world.


End file.
